


Crimson

by Straumoy



Series: Power Girl - Public Servant [1]
Category: DC Elseworlds, Grand Theft Auto V, inFAMOUS (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Character Development, Crime Fighting, DC Comics References, Drama, F/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 96,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22068850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straumoy/pseuds/Straumoy
Summary: Kara Zor-L's plan was simple; take the money earned from selling software and set up shop in Los Santos. Use said shop as a gateway to human tech which would hopefully reverse engineer or even repair the spacecraft that brought her here and learn the truth of her origins. All while keeping to her head low with no one the wiser. Simple got complicated when Kara's lack of impulse control revealed herself to the world. Humanity freaked out and governments scrambled to regain control. A deal was struck; now all Kara has to do is win the hearts and minds of the people and law enforcement alike. Easy, right?
Series: Power Girl - Public Servant [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588474
Comments: 38
Kudos: 5





	1. Can I Begin

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: While fairly confident in my writing skills, English isn't my main language. So expect typos and grammatical errors to show their ugly heads on occasion. If you spot one or more that is particularly bad, please let me know and I'll fix it.

_Do I dare disturb the universe?_ Karen laid in her bed; her vibrant blue eyes looked at the palm of her hand with a distant gaze. Another minute ticked by on her alarm clock, the early hours of the day kept pressing onwards. She sat up in the bed, the comfortable sheets fluffed around her while Karen's gaze looked around in the dimly lit bedroom. For all its quality materials and fine craftsmanship, her bedroom was not alive. There was this thick smog of sterility that no vase, carpet or painting could quite fully drive away.

Karen got up and out of bed, the soft embrace of both her pillow and mattress had failed to lull her into a comfortable and carefree sleep. The rubber band on her panties snapped against her hip after she'd adjusted it and as she stood by the window, it took a drowsy moment before she caught on that one of her singlet straps dangled loosely off her shoulder. Off in the distance she could see the city lights, their reflection dancing around in merry and random ways in the Pacific Ocean. A wave rolled by, barely rocking the yacht that Karen called home before it set its sights on the shores of Los Santos.

* * *

_We are sorry. We are unable to process your transaction at this time. Please try again._ Rose looked at the ATM screen, its lifeless message illuminating her drained and dirty face. Her hands tremble as she takes the card back. In silent defeat she hugs her stomach, a meagre comfort to the growling pain that nags inside. A glance over her shoulder shows that she’s alone with the gas station clerk. With a deep breath and a slow, soft sigh Rose calms herself before she sets out browsing the various goods the gas station has on sale. Soda, snacks, frozen pizza along with fresh window washers, car oil and washer fluids in at least five different brands.

The sound of her one boot clunks heavily on the tile floor, an odd duet with her squeaking sneaker. She looks at all the food and drinks within her reach, so close yet they might as well be on the far side of the moon. Her stomach growls again, louder this time and the fridge door opens. Eager hands work fast, picking two, three, four bottles of soda before the fifth falls to the floor. Rose freezes, looks at the clerk who just gives her a deadpan _you’ve got to be kidding me_ look. An apologetic smile, however brief, crosses her lips and they crack apart, tiny pearls of blood rush out to greet the day.

Carefully, as if apologizing for her existence, Rose puts the bottles back into the fridge. It closes behind her with a loud smack and she flinches at the sound. Securing the bottle that got away, she cuddles it as a mother would an infant before she walks down back to the snack shelves. This time her hands are delegate and tender, a by-product of a deliberate choice. Rose’s tongue slips out, scooping up droplets of blood, the taste of iron poking its pikes at her. A pause, it seems to drag on for an eternity as Rose look at her stash then at the door and back again. There’s a soundless plea in her eyes as they land on the ATM one last time before she rounds another shelf and finds herself in front of the tools.

Her blue and bloodshot eyes dart over her options before she snatches one quickly and tucks it close. Clonk, squeak, clonk, squeak, clonk, squeak, Rose makes her way up to the counter with her soda and snacks carefully in the fold of her arm while her free hand seemed to wrestle with something inside the pocket of her oversized coat. The clerk, an elderly Asian man, stifles a yawn as he scans the items. He exaggerates a blink, perhaps to focus his vision so he can see the final price.

“$15.32” his voice betrayed an obvious dialect.

“Yeah, uhm…” Rose tucked into her pocket, “just, j-just- gimme all your money!”

A pair of scissors is trusted at the clerk, the wrapping only partially undone. Short, tense breaths escape through Rose’s nostrils. Her jaw and lower lip tremble with either tension or adrenaline, despite being locked shut. The clerk raises his arms, hands spread wide. Flabbergasted, tired or maybe a combination of the two has caused a traffic jam in his words, leaving only stuttering sounds free reign. Then came the shift as the initial shock and surprise got purged from the system. His eyes grew angry and his posture changed accordingly. He was about to unleash a torrent of foul words in his own language when the double doors suddenly opened.

In the doorway stood a woman, tall and strong. She was oddly dressed, wearing what could best be described as a white, sleeveless wetsuit with a short scarlet red cape loosely attached to one shoulder. She looked at the rather odd couple by the counter for a fleeting moment, before her eyes narrowed with disapproval. There was an air of cocky confidence in her stride and she was between them in no time flat. Her hand went for Rose’s scissors without a word and they wrestled for control.

“Now, you not come in here,” the clerk protested with a stern tone.

“Sir, I’ll handle this just-” the woman was cut short as Rose yanked hard on the scissors.

For a moment she dared to think that she could somehow wiggle free, but that faint hope died the moment Rose hit the woman’s brute strength head on like a steel wall. Try as she might, Rose tucked and pulled, twisted and turned yet the woman simply did not budge. Rose might as well try to shove a mountain out of her way.

“Stop wiggling!” the command came out like a cracking thunder.

Rose fingers let go of the scissors as if they were fresh from the furnace and fumbled backward before curling up like a ball. The woman looked down at her, towering over her like a mighty warrior from the coliseums of old. She smacked the scissors on the counter and scoffed sharply. Her tense stance softened before the woman leaned down and quietly offered a sympathetic hand. Their eyes met and there, right on the surface of those vibrant hues of blues Rose saw genuine regret. She shifted around and was about to reach for the hand when the clerk barked out:

“Gun! She got gun!”

The woman shot a quick look over her shoulder and stared straight down the barrel of a single-barrel, sawed-off shotgun. In an instant, her knee hit the ground like a ten-ton hammer and her arms suddenly seemed ten-mile-long as they reached for Rose and scooped her up into the most intense bear hug she’d ever been part off. Then the shot came, a deafening boom that left a stinging ring in Rose ears. An unfamiliar smell came at her, presumably the smell of gunpowder.

“You alright?” the question was so soft that had the woman not lightly shaken at Rose for a response, she’d miss it.

She felt her crouch get warm and wet, her eyes got hot and vision got all washed out. A million impressions and sensations hammered and screamed for her immediate attention all at once. She cowered and shrunk back even further, like a kitten fresh out of a pool of misery, while nodding her head vigorously. The woman patted her head ever so gently as she let her embrace of Rose melt away until only the cold, hard tiles of the gas station remained.

Once more she stood tall and strong, but this time it was different. Whether it was human nature or just women intuition, Rose never knew, but when she looked up at the woman now, she saw something else. She saw a wrath of enormous proportions, pulling and yanking at its chains. It was just a short glimpse, but it was enough to send ice cold shivers down Rose’s spine. Sluggishly she got on her feet and staggered outside, crashing into a donut stand on the way out.

“Ah, you let her get away,” the clerk pointed at the door.

“Just what the flying fuck is wrong with you?!” the woman snatched the shotgun from his hands, the metal creaking and groaning as her grip tightened.

“She- she had gun.”

“No, she did not, you fucking banana head.”

“Ah? How you know? You not police. I call police right now.”

“Look, be my guest pal,” the woman tossed the now damaged shotgun on the counter in disgust, “be my guest.”

* * *

Outside the streets were empty and save a dog barking off in the distance, calm as only early mornings can be. She looked up at the building across the street, noticing a curious bystander spying from the safety between a gap in his curtains. He backed off in a hurry as soon as the woman waved at him as an acknowledgment that she knew he was there, watching. She sighed and groaned a little as she massaged one of her shoulders while spinning her arm around in its shoulder socket. The sot on her fingers made her pause for a moment before an even louder groan escaped her.

“Great, now I need to get a new cape,” the woman folded her arms over her chest, shaking her head.

Sirens in the far distance caught her ears and as it grew closer, she tried to straighten herself and start fresh. With the police on the scene, the records would be set straight, the douchebag clerk gets a stern warning, a ticket or maybe even some jail time and everyone could go about their business. Her shoulders sank notably, however, the moment she saw just who responded to the clerk’s 911 call; Alejandra “Alex” Quintero and Neil Hurst. Alex was an attractive female officer with Hispanic features: olive skin, deep brown eyes, and black hair, usually pulled back in a ponytail, but for some reason not this morning. Her uniform, on the other hand, was invariably spotless, as was a tradition. Neil’s Black Irish ancestry of both his mother and his true father remained as up front and center as always, with black hair and thick bushy eyebrows.

“Good morning Power Girl didn’t know you were on the clock,” Alex’s greeting had a transparent honesty to it.

“Officer Quintero, Officer Hurst,” Power Girl lightly bobbed her head at both of them.

“Right,” Alex's shoulders shrugged lightly, “Neil, I’ll talk to the clerk. Why don’t you get a statement from Power Girl, okay?”

With Alex gone inside, Power Girl and Neil stood outside in awkward silence, their faces splashed in colors red and blue from the sirens. They just looked at each other as if they were participating in the glaring state championship. His eyes had a smoldering intensity that in many cases drew women like moths to a flame, but Power Girl did not seem impressed, or if she was, she sure didn’t show it. When Neil reached for his handcuffs, she flinched and took half a step back.

“Hey, I’ve got to detain you when questioning you, alright?”

Power Girl pointed a stern finger at him, “Look, if you as much as try to touch me with those cuffs, I’ll snap free and throw your sorry ass halfway across the state.”

“Listen you dumb bimbo, it’s the law alright? The law you wanna help enforce?”

She took a step forward, her face twisted into an angry snarl, “Do. Not-”

Another set of sirens blared off a few quick wails. This time it came from a black and anonymous looking car that rolled in just next to the carwash. It was so anonymous that it essentially screamed government issued. An Asian woman stepped out, dressed in a plain looking black suit with pants to match and a white shirt. Her short black hair was tucked into a bun and her sunken, tired eyes said it all. It was way too late for this kind of bullshit. She made a shoo gesture at Neil as she approached them, her heels clacking in a quick rhythm as a not so subtle clue that she didn’t really want to be here at this hour.

Neil shifted over to his best badass cop pose, complete with thumbs hooked into his belt as he demanded, “And who are you supposed to be lady?”

“Special agent Lucy Kuo, FBI,” Lucy held up her badge on reflex, “I’ll take it from here officer, thank you.”

“Special treatment for a special lady,” he clicked his tongue and nodded in Power Girl’s direction, “watch it though, this bitch bites.”

Power Girl inched closer to give him a fair piece of her mind, though one firm arm from Lucy made her pause and fall back in her place. The two looked on and waited until Neil was inside the gas station with Alex before Lucy started talking, “So, what do you have to say for yourself this time?”

“Look, it wasn’t me this time, alright?” Power Girl gestured at the clerk, “I had it when Mr. Ping Pong, Sing Song over there decided that hey, look at the clock and its shotgun hour.”

Lucy shifted her weight from one foot to the other and raised a highly skeptical eyebrow. She waited for something and since she wasn’t getting it, she even crossed her arms over her chest.

Power Girl groaned, “Don’t do that… Yes, that came out as a little racist, so shoot me. Actually, don’t. I’ve already been shot once today. Look,” she turned around and pointed at the irregular hole on her cape, complete with a dark sot lining going all the way around.

“I’ll listen, just take it from the top, fair?”

“Right, look this was really not my fault, okay? I just- couldn’t sleep and figured hey, might as well go out for a flight. Some fresh air might do me some good, what do I know? But I got hungry, so I swing by for a quick snack and the only places that are open at this hour are gas stations. Boom, robbery in progress. I can’t walk away from that, now can I? Disarm the robber, contain the situation – it’s all good until the clerk screams gun and pulls the shotgun on the poor kid. So, I’m all ‘serve and protect’ and shield her from the blast. Then he calls the cops on me. And here we are. I’m still hungry.”

“Listen,” Lucy said while she pinched the bridge of her nose, “you have to a) be sure to check in with the police department when you go on and off duty, b) don’t just pick and choose willy-nilly what to respond to, let dispatch assign you, c) diffuse the situation, whatever it is, not escalate it and d) whenever in doubt, call for backup.”

“Backup,” Power Girl scoffed like the very word offended her. “Besides, how am I supposed to check in? Do you seriously expect me to fly to the police station every single time, give them a quick hello or goodbye?”

One of Lucy’s hands helplessly swirled around in the air as if she was calling on some higher power to grant her strength, “Or you could carry with you a police radio like regular police officers do.”

“Uh, no? I mean look at this,” Power Girl gestured up and down the length of her suit. Its rouged texture almost gave it a sparkling effect in the early morning sun, the plain white color was only broken off by a series of metallic blue and silvery lines that curved around her waist and down her thigs. The collars of the suit started small before it curved upwards and peaked just below her ears. At the center was a golden oval along with a pair of golden lines curving around almost like a belt. The wristbands around her arms coiled around and ended in a sharp tip just below her elbows. Her cape was held in place by a string of golden medallions, each sporting a unique alien symbol encased in five-cornered shield like carving. Most notably, however, was the gaping hole in the suit, a similar shield shape as seen in the medallions, except much larger. With the bottom of the shield forming an upside-down pyramid, the whole showed a very generous amount of cleavage.

“Uh-huh.”

“Look, look. How am I supposed to- where would I put the radio?”

“In a utility belt?” Power Girl gave Lucy a dumb look, the look one gives away when you’ve just heard the stupidest thing in decades. “It works for us humans, just saying.”

“No- that’s just- ugh, stupid. It’d get in my way, throw me off balance.”

“Like the cape does?”

There was a moment of brief silence before Power Girl pouted, “I hate you.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” Lucy sighed and seemed to yield. Whether it was because she was tried as a rock or attempting to defuse the conversation was hard to tell. “Listen, just- go home, please? I’m tired and was on my way home when I got the call. Now I’ve got another report to file.”

She reached out to give Power Girl a pat on her shoulder, but she pulled back and flew away like a soft breeze.

* * *

Later that day Lucy was called in to the FBI HQ on Lower Power St to debrief the brass. The elevator dinged and the chrome doors slid aside. A small hustle and bustle followed, people shifting around, leaving and entering the elevator. It was the usual dance, though Lucy staggered herself through it. A lack of sleep had a nasty habit of doing that and the quick shower she took early had started to lose its desired effect. Rather than let it eat at her now, Lucy clenched harder on her report and pressed on. The FBI office building was the same dull, stiff and highly formal as any other government building. Pale grey walls, flags flanking oversized office emblems, anonymous wooden doors, impersonal pottery plants scattered on random corners and that same boring blue-grey carpet that looked like cigarette smoke made solid. Her stride was deliberate and with a clear purpose in mind when she entered the briefing room.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted the men already present before she helped herself with a small sip of water.

The briefing room was more like a meeting room since the agency as a whole was really dragging its feet to dedicate resources to this particular case. As a result, everything was fairly standard, from the white painted concrete pillars in each corner, the six clocks on the wall, heavy metal blinds that hadn’t been dusted in seven years or more, a couple of monitors, a whiteboard that looked as half scrubbed down as Lucy felt and of course a long, sterile black table. If anything, at least the chairs were fairly comfortable to sit in, though judging by the rest of the attendees, this would be a short meeting indeed.

“Agent Kuo, we’ve received a report of yet another incident this morning,” an elderly gentleman said, his words slightly muffled from nipping on the end of his glasses.

“Yes sir, the robbery at the gas station in Little Seoul. I managed to respond to the call,” she looked up from the unpacking of her file and gave the man an assuring smile. He barely made an audible sound in response. “Well then, gentlemen. Shall we get started?”

The gentleman nodded, putting his glasses on and flipped through his papers as he said, “We’re now at- what, the sixth month of trials?”

“No sir, we’re at week six of the trials.”

He pulled off his glasses and loosely tossed them on the table, massaging his face in response, “Good god, it feels like six years if you ask me.”

“It’s… been busy sir.”

An African American man spoke up, his voice rolled with a deep commanding base, “Those damn old fools in D.C. They’d sell their grandmother’s corpse for a vote. One publicity stunt, one and they just shower their latest little…” he licked his lips, “toy… with all kinds of special treatment.”

“With all due respect sir, that publicity stunt saved a lot of lives in this city,” Lucy pointed out. When he looked at her, she couldn’t hold his piercing gaze for long and retreated back to her file.

“September can’t come fast enough if you ask me,” a third man said with a sly smile. The others chipped in with smiles and light chuckles. “Just lock that thing up in a lab and let us focus on doing actual work, not… whatever this is.”

“Yes, well,” Lucy cleared her throat, “about the gas station robbery. There were no injuries or any noteworthy collateral damage this time. While a single shot was fired, the only one that was hurt was Kara Zor-L.”

“Any more detail on that injury agent Kuo?”

“Sir?”

“The alien, it was shot at almost point-blank range with a- a- sawed?” the elderly man with the glasses looked down on his papers, “Yes, sawed-off shotgun. Did it draw blood?”

“No sir, I inspected the injury myself and all it did was puncture her cape. Even the suit itself seemed unharmed aside from the sot. Her durability to small and even medium firearms is truly remarkable,” Lucy said, with a small hint of admiration in her tone.

The man rested his chin in his palm, looking but not really seeing the paper in front of him, “Mmmm…”

“The Pentagon with Lieutenant General Peter Randall at the front is tripping around like anxious little girls on their first dance,” the African American man said. “If you’re unable to contain this alien agent Kuo, he will step in and do whatever it takes to bring that thing back in line. Even with D.C.’s blessing, we’re all on needles and pins here agent. If there’s nothing to show for at the end of the trial period, the alien goes. If the alien goes off the rails, General Randall will bring the thunder.”

“Yes sir, I appreciate the reminder.”

He nodded at her approvingly, “Now this,” he tapped the report in front of him, “this isn’t good enough agent. Both you and that alien need to do better. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir.”


	2. StarrWARE

Karen let out a pained sigh as she massaged her still throbbing shoulder. All around her was about two dozen movers hauling in equipment and furniture for the new StarrWARE office which was about to open out in Rockford Hills. She surveyed the people while she sipped happily on her Dr. Pepper, there was something oddly satisfying in seeing things come to life, creation itself unfolding and breathing life into what was an empty and hollow building just a few days ago. If only the paint would stop smelling, things would be even better. She still wasn’t too sure about the colors though, yellow and purple on every other wall, broken up by wall sections plastered with graffiti. Some local kid or talent was given free rein after Karen finally relented on the condition that the reception area remained formal and professional.

The elevator dinged for the fiftieth or so time and yet another pair of movers rolled out with a sofa white sofa wrapped in plastic. “Guys, look I think this one goes here,” Karen gestured to the corner to her left.

“Miss Starr? Where do we put the arcade machines?” Dexter cleaned some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Karen looked at him for a moment and blinked. Another moment ticked by and she took a long drink from her soda. “Arcade machines?”

“Yeah, we got- let’s see, uh two of them,” he took a short look over his shoulder to confirm.

She furrowed her brows and walked over to the machines with him hot on her heels. Dexter Nichols was a good kid, shy, awkward and tall as a beanstalk, but brilliant. Karen hadn’t hired him for his independent thinking or quick decision-making skills, however. Dexter’s talents lied in another department.

“Look, we didn’t order these,” Karen looked at the order sticker on the arcade machine. “Odd, the address is correct, but I don’t recall-”

“Oh, those go out to the waiting area by the elevator.”

“Simon?” Karen’s lips bent into a stiff, uncomfortable smile. “Mind telling me what the meaning of these machines is?”

Unlike Dexter, who tip-toed away quietly like a guilty puppy, Simon remained cheerful and undaunted by Karen’s tone. “Leisure, something for our clients to poke at while waiting. Coffee?”

“No, these go back,” when she walked past him she made a point of bumping her shoulder into his.

“Wait- what? Ms. Starr, hold up,” he paused to lick a drop of coffee from his thumb, “you said this was going to be different.”

“Yes, different. I have very specific things I want this company to achieve and letting our clients play Donkey Kong isn’t one of them.”

He followed her down the stairs to the small kitchen area where a technician was cleaning up the packing of a soda machine. Apparently, he knew that something was going down and much like Dexter before, the technician made a hasty retreat.

“Ms. Starr, with all due respect – you’re not dealing with machines or software anymore,” Karen tossed her empty soda can in the trash with a deadpan clunk, “or at the very least, not exclusively. You’re dealing with people now, employees and clients. They have other needs.”

“Which is why I hired you, Simon.”

He nodded and put his coffee cup aside before folding his hands in prayer, “Then why won’t you let me do my job?”

Her eyes narrowed just enough so one could almost hear the ice cracking underneath Simon’s shoes, “Look, spending my money on toys isn’t in your job description.”

“I’m looking after, ensuring that the people that will be working for you are not treated like machines in a sweatshop, but as- well, people. A happy employee is a productive and not to mention a loyal employee. Some even put more stock in happiness found in fitness or yoga or a comfortable chair than monetary benefits.”

Just then, in the corner of her eye, Karen spotted a mover haul a big bag like the chair in the most godawful purple color she’d ever laid eyes on. She pointed her thumb at the chair just before it disappeared from view and Simon just nodded. For a moment she seemed to ponder over the subject matter before she walked past Simon, again nudging her shoulder against his, and stepped into the hallway that leads to the back door.

On both sides of the hallway were several doors and some of them had signed over them. The first one was straight enough, tech stop. They were a software company and as such, they were bound to run into IT problems like anyone else. Spill some coffee here, reboot in the middle of an update here and presto, the darn thing has stopped working. It stood to reason to have an office where dedicated staff could tinker with hardware to make it work again.

As for the other signs, they had Karen worried. Yoga Zone and Sweat Lodge didn’t seem even remotely related to anything software or IT for that matter. Curious she took a peek inside and found a reasonable amount of training equipment inside the Sweat Lounge room. While not really a fully-fledged gym, it was still a lot of money that had gone into things that again had next to nothing to do with software development.

“This,” she twirled her finger around, encircling the bulk of the gear, “goes back right now.”

“Ms. Starr-”

“Did I stutter?”

His shoulders sank down with a hearty sigh.

Lunchtime came around and people scattered about to nearby coffee shops and cafes for a quick bite. Karen remained behind at the office while trying to figure out how to best place the desks. Only one had been assembled, so she had to move it around a lot to get her measurements correct and help her visualize how things would look. A good hour and a half later and Karen finally started to have a look around to see where the movers and her staff had gone to. They should be back by now, right? From the doorway, she looked down the hallway to the back door and was about to head to the reception when she caught the eye of Dexter. Puzzled why he didn’t enter, she strained her ears.

“-jacket, I left it in the meeting room.”

“Oh, Dexter sweetie, we can come for that tomorrow okay?”

Dexter’s hand shrunk away from the door handle, “I- I’m sorry Ms. Lieb, I don’t follow.”

“You heard Simon, right? People aren’t too happy that Ms. Starr is trying to run the show like it’s a one-man show. We’re a team and right now it's best if we just leave her some breathing space and talk about things tomorrow, yes?”

“Uh… okay, but- uh, we’re- we’re not done with the moving in and-”

A hand reached out and tucked at Dexter’s elbow, pulling him away from the door, “It’ll be fine dear. Rome wasn’t built in a day. These things take time-”

Karen closed the door and climbed the stairs two steps at the time. Surveying the room once more she unbuttoned her shirt a little and while she rolled up the sleeves, she noticed her cell phone resting on top of some unpacked desks. A moment of hesitation made her pause, her teeth found her lower lip before she shook it off and scoffed. These desks would not unpack themselves.

By the time the orange evening sun shined through the windows, painting long and sharp shadows along the floor and up the walls, StarrWARE was for the most part up and running. At least as far as furniture and computers were concerned. Well, except the “fun” furniture that Simon had bought, that she’d left in mint condition inside the so-called Yoga Zone. Even with superhuman stamina and strength, it’d taken Karen the better part of the day to get things in order, but now things were pretty close to how she wanted it to be. Bonus point that everything was now neatly connected, the routers and switches were configured and she’d even documented it all for later reference.

* * *

Sonia Sato, captain of Karen’s yacht, waited patiently for a fax to be printed out on the bridge. She looked over the final printout and nodded shortly to her first mate before heading aft. Out on the sundeck, Karen was eating her breakfast to some soft and tender instrumental music. While Sonia couldn’t quite place the genre, it was nonetheless quite soothing and pleasant to the ear. As she approached, the smell of the sea yielded to a smog of food scents, primarily dominated by big ham and cheese omelets. Karen licked her fingers as soon as she’d finished off her second egg sandwich loaded up with all the fixings, ranging from cheese to fried onions to mayo. She was about to help herself with a five-egg omelet when she spotted Sonia and waved her over.

“Morning ma’am,” her tone was direct and formal.

Karen just wiggled her wrist around in a vague greeting, pieces of omelet shot out from her lips as she tried to speak, “’ornin’ cap.”

“Candidates for the purser position,” she put the piece of paper neatly next to Karen’s plate.

“Oh, would you look at that. Mercedes already moved back to her parents?”

“Yes ma’am, she left the day before yesterday,” Sonia seemed to hesitate before adding, “she wanted to give you her regards, thank you for your support, but you were busy so…”

Karen swiped her mouth clean with a napkin, “Yeah, things aren’t running smoothly with the company, everyone wants to go in just about any direction but mine. Oh well, glad she saw reason and went back home. Still, what kind of an asshole bails out on his pregnant girlfriend?”

“The man that lays his hand on woman, save in the way of kindness, is a wretch whom 'twere gross flattery to name a coward.”

She slumped back in her hair with a flabbergasted look on her face before she trembled lightly, chuckling with a warm smile, “Now look- Just what- where did that come from?”

“John Tobin ma’am, it’s a quote from one of his plays.”

“Uh-huh, and why are you dropping such fancy, highbrow quotes this early in the morning?”

Sonia fidgeted ever so slightly where she stood. There was a worried shine to her eyes and her hands half reached for her long, pitch-black hair before stopping dead in their tracks and finding their rest firmly behind her back. “My- my English could use some improvement and- I’ve been studying, reading a lot in my spare time.”

“Look, your English is fine,” she waved her napkin around in a dismissive, if not sloppy, manner. “A little accent, but nothing major.”

Their conversation died down, Sonia patiently standing by her side as a steadfast tin soldier while Karen carried on with her breakfast. Above them a seagull hung in the air, coasting effortlessly from one wind torrent to the next. A water scooter could be heard in the far distance, its engine ebbing in and out at the edge of hearing as it approached and drove away from the yacht. Between bites, Karen glanced at the list of candidates though Sonia could tell that she was just looking without truly reading.

“Is there something wrong ma’am?”

“Nah, just- the thing is- why-why does things have to be so difficult?”

“Ma’am?”

She dug her fingernail between her teeth, apparently trying to dig something loose as she spoke, “A ‘right look, so- the office. We- the gang isn’t really- I want them to do things one way, they want to do it another. I should have the final say because- it’s my money, I pay them to do what I want them to do, not just- goof around doing yoga.”

“I see…”

“And- since I’m an adult and all that, we- go back to our desks and mull about and, and then I just do it my way anyway.”

Sonia squinted a little in the sun, “Isn’t that inefficient ma’am? Sounds like you’re doing double work.”

“I know, right?” Karen spread her arms out, “Look, any sane person gets grumpy over double work. Any.”

“In that case,” she licked her lips and seemed to weigh her next words carefully, “might I come with a suggestion, ma’am?”

“Fire at will cap.”

“Take a break, do something different.”

She leaned forward on the table, resting her chin in her hand and drummed her fingers. There were a restless, slightly frustrated tone and rhythm to her drumming and every once in a while, Karen puffed out these sharp and short sighs through her nose. Eventually, she leaned back in her seat, a rumbling growl bubbled in the back of her throat while her fingers ran through her blonde hair.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right,” she said as she got up, “I’ll get this make-up off, call in sick or something and then, fly about. Don’t think I’ve suited up this whole week. Time to change just th-”

“If I may,” Sonia let her usual trademark calm slip and the pleading urgency in her tone was painfully apparent, “ma’am. Might I suggest something else entirely?”

Karen looked down at her elbow, noting the good captain’s hand that held her back, then back at Sonia, “I’m all ears.”

Hastily she let go of the elbow and tilted slightly forward in an apologetic bow, “Forgive me ma’am, but wouldn’t it be better if you did some exercise instead? For the past few days, you’ve neglected your regular workout routine.”

“Hmm, good point,” she gave her arm a few squeezes as if checking the sturdiness of her muscles, “no wonder I’m cranky.”

* * *

After a quick change of clothes and one make-up scrub down later, Karen headed for Muscle Sands Gym, an outdoor gym located on the Vespucci Beach Sidewalk in Vespucci Beach. Perks for living on a yacht is that you could just hop on a boat and two minutes later, bam instant beach action. The bruise on her shoulder from the shotgun was all but gone, so Karen could wear her sports bra without worrying about drawing unwanted attention to herself. That said, given her fairly impressive physique, she did turn some heads even among the regular attendees at the gym.

Her fairly simple all-black sports bra and short tights left little to the imagination as they clung to her like two coats of paint. From the neck and down, Karen’s body was sculpted with muscles, too big to be natural on a woman, yet small and smooth enough so that they didn’t overshadow her femininity. Her soft face along with large breasts quite flattened and confined within her bra along with a gentle hourglass figure helped smooth out the details that her muscles brought forward. The confident, yet friendly and disarming smile also helped.

Under the unforgiving San Andreas sun, Karen went through her workout. Some light jogging and jumping jacks for warm-up and then a string of exercises. Due to her past neglect, she went with a lighter circuit to ease herself into the groove again, starting with a one-minute plank, twenty sit-ups, twenty toe-touches, forty bicycle kicks, another minute with plank and while she was doing her push-ups, she took note of a man watching her in the corner of her eye.

“What?” she nodded towards him as dusted off her hands.

“Nothing, just- damn, you’re working hard, working good and go the results to show for it. I’m impressed. Excellent work, keep it up,” his mustache tilted to the side as he cracked half a grin, winking his eye.

“Thanks, you don’t look like a newcomer either.”

“Oh no, I’ve been a gym instructor for quite a few years, but have decided to go for bodybuilding instead.”

“Wow, that’s something,” Karen dabbed her sweaty face with her towel, “why go that route?”

“A well-built physique is a status symbol. It reflects you worked hard for it, no money can buy it. You cannot borrow it, you cannot inherit it, and you cannot steal it. You cannot hold onto it without constant work. It shows discipline, it shows self-respect, it shows patience, work ethic, and passion. That is why I do what I do.”

Karen let it sink in for a minute, then hung her towel over her shoulder before slowly clapping her hands, “Very well put Mr…?”

“Vernon O'Valeron, at your service Mrs…?” he gave an exaggerated bow and offered his hand.

She smiled and shook his hand, “Karen Starr, miss. No ring on this finger.”

“How can such an impossibility exist? Surely there must be dozens of men by your door, crawling, worshiping the very ground you walk,” he gave her hand a gentle tug and pulled her close.

“Not quite,” she gave soft laugh and pulled her hand free, “still kinda fresh of the boat sort of speak. Been so busy with work and well- this that the whole dating part kinda fell by the wayside.”

“Business before pleasure, I understand perfectly,” Vernon’s chocolate brown eyes shifted their attention from Karen to a flat bench press that became available. “Pardon me.”

Karen eyed him as he walked over to the bench and started loading on some weights. Normally that’d be it, exchange some pleasantries and go back to the workout. Though instead, she found herself simply standing there, tucking at the towel around her neck. She shook her head and looked around for something to do, dropping her towel in her bag. As Vernon got in position to start benching, Karen walked up and leaned over him.

“Need a spotter?”

He smiled at her, “Better safe than- oh, interesting.”

“Hmm?”

“Your eyes, they’re- they’re different colors. Brown and blue.”

She tilted her head and smiled before she gently knocked on the bar a few times as she said, “Come on Vernon where’s that work ethic you talked about before? Show me what you’ve got.”

A few hours later and Vernon had to throw in the towel. Officially he had an appointment to attend to. Unofficially the poor man was on trembling knees for pushing himself to an inch of his limit in an attempt to keep up with Karen. While she was careful not to load as many weights as Vernon did, they did give each other their personal bests and egged one another on to do just one more. Karen’s official best was nowhere near her limit (if that even was a thing), but it was good fun and good sportsmanship nonetheless.

“What are you made of woman?” he said when he finally stopped drinking.

“Can’t you tell by looking?” she shifted through a few half-improvised bodybuilder poses, “Twisted steel and raw sex appeal.”

“No-” he took a moment to catch his breath, “-no argument there. I mean look at you. Here I sit, gasping like a bagpipe and you-you're just worked up some sweat. Remarkable.”

“Look, Vernon I- uh, I had fun today. Good workout.”

“Yeah, me too Karen. Me too.”

She picked up her bag and tossed it over her shoulder, “So… see you around, I guess?”

“Uh-huh, I usually go to this gym unless it’s raining or I’m running. Next time I’ll beat you though.”

“I only lead with two, so yeah. You can pull it off. Bye.”

* * *

Not long afterward, several hundred meters over even the tallest skyscraper in Los Santos, Power Girl effortlessly glided through the air. She couldn’t for the life of her stop smiling even as the sound of police sirens caught her ears. As she descended further down, the sirens yielded ever so slightly to the sound of a bank alarm, which helped her pinpoint where to start looking. It was the Fleeca bank out on Vespucci Boulevard, Pillbox Hill that has gotten hit. Power Girl’s gaze traced down Mission Row before the blinking reds and blues from the police cars caught her eye. She threw one fist in front of her and dashed down, coming up behind the robber’s car on the driver’s side.

“Goddamn!” the driver said the moment she jabbed her elbow and smashed the side window.

She inched closer, “Alright boys, pull over.”

The car continued to rush down the road at neck-breaking speeds, wiggling back and forth in its lane in an attempt to shake off Power Girl. When the car pressed against her, she met it head-on, feeling how the metal bent and groaned along with the length of her frame. She tried to maintain her balance while reaching in over the steering wheel to snatch the keys when all of a sudden the car pulled away. In the corner of her eye, Power Girl caught but a blurry glimpse of the reason why before her face smashed straight into an ongoing truck.

“Bahahaha! Did you see that? Did you see that shit?” the driver couldn’t stop laughing.

Of the two robbers in the back seat, one leaned out the window and yelled, “Yeah, take that you dumb bitch!”

“Alright, now lose the cops, Franklin,” said the second robber just as he pulled off his mask.

“On it.”

Without warning a fist punched through the ceiling, going elbow deep.

“Motherfucker!” one of the robbers jolted in his seat before he pressed himself hard against the door.

Fingers from a second hand wiggled themselves through the hole and started to pull it aside, making it wider. Had it not been for the snapping of electrical wires and groaning metal, one would have thought that Power Girl was simply pulling a plastic bag and some thin strings to shreds. She glared down at them through the gaping hole in the roof, two thick streams of blood ran from her nostrils. When she spoke, even her teeth had a coat of blood on them.

“Pull. Over.”

The first robber went for his revolver and unloaded all six rounds into her torso and head. Only the bullets that hit her in the face made her flinch, though Power Girl stood her ground. Her vibrant blue eyes grew brighter, a golden orange color swelling from deep behind her eyes emerged and swallowed all other colors. With even her eye sockets illuminated, beams shot out from her eyes, pulsating irregularly with energy and sliced into the stereo system on the dashboard. Smoke billowed out, plastic melted and electrical systems snapped and sparked angrily. The two beams trekked upwards and cut across towards the left front tire which exploded with a loud bang.

Power Girl maintained her footing and pressed down on the car, much to the protest of the rear window and metal ceiling. This was probably the only thing that kept the car somewhat grounded as it ran out of road and rushed into the green grassy hills beyond. From the thick pillar of black oil smoke, angry deep orange flames rushed forward and started licking furiously on the hood and front window. Basic instinct took over and the panic-struck robbers tried to flee the car in the quickest way possible. One made it out just fine, but the shooter and driver were both stuck since the doors on their side were too dented to be opened.

With the police pulling up for the assist, Power Girl darted just a small foot right behind the fleeing robber. She grabbed him by the back of his jacket and promptly tossed him towards the police, sending him scratching along the grass and dirt. Her face looked more annoyed than concerned for the hollowing robbers still in the car as they struggled with the doors that would not open. The police approached cautiously after securing the robber, prompting Power Girl to step up and simply yank the dented car doors off their hinges and pull the robbers out.

By the time the fire department had more or less drowned the car in a cocktail of water and foam, Lucy arrived on the scene. She navigated through the small crowd of paramedics, firefighters, and police officers until she finally got to Power Girl.

“What in the world are you doing?”

Power Girl looked at her with a slightly puzzled expression, “Doing a good deed by stopping a bank robbery? You’re welcome by the way.”

“Listen. This,” Lucy pointed at the burned down car, “is not a good deed. This is excessive use of force, overkill.”

“Look, they wouldn’t pull over and- and they had guns.”

“That doesn’t make it okay for you to start spitting out lightsabers from your eyeballs and setting the car on fire!” Lucy took a few deep breaths to catch herself, “Listen, people could have died. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, but- I had it.”

“What if your death beam had- had hit the driver, huh?” she grabbed Power Girl by the elbow and pulled her over to the car. “Listen to me, okay? If he was sitting there, you stood up there and the beams went from here, up like that and to the left. One mistake from you or some random- soda can, I don’t know- something. His head would touch your beam and he’d be a very, very dead man.”

“Alright, alright- sweet stars above,” Power Girl pulled free, hugging herself as if she was suddenly cold, “no death beams, noted.”

Lucy looked at her for a moment before she sighed and reached for something behind her back. It happened so fast it was over in a blink, a by-product of having done the same series of motions a million times over. Only when the clacking stopped did Power Girl realize what had gone down; she had been handcuffed.

“What the- why are you arresting me?!”

“Listen, you’re not under arrest, you’re being detained for questioning.”

“Look, just- You can’t be serious.”

She rubbed her forehead and squinted her eyes, “I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just dialed back when stopping those robbers.”

“You know what,” Power Girl snapped the handcuffs and pulled them off her wrists, “this is bullshit. At the end of the day, bad guys lost, good guys won and no one died. You’re welcome.”

With that, Power Girl took high to the skies and was soon just a small black dot against the clear blue skies.

* * *

There was a polite knock on the door to Det. Pauline Reed’s office. She looked up from her computer screen and sighed a heavy sigh before she waved Lucy to come inside. Taking a seat in one of the chairs just across the desk, Lucy looked around the office with an almost restless twitch to her movements. If Pauline didn’t know better, she’d assume that Lucy was somehow stalling, reluctant to talk about whatever was on her mind, yet it was too important to simply sweep under the rug.

“Coffee?” she offered the FBI agent.

“Huh? Oh- uh, yes please.”

Pauline got out of her seat and headed for the door before she asked, “Do you take anything in it? Milk, sugar?”

“Extra milk please if you have any.”

Left alone inside the office, Lucy took in the sights. It was a formal and tidy office, if not very dull and a tad on the depressing side with the color palette. Grey carpet that should probably have been replaced at least three years ago, cold and uncaring walls where the lower quarter had a thick coat of blue-greyish paint. A sharp contrast to the pale grey that rested over it. The American flag stood quietly in one corner, behind the desk and the walls had simple decoration. Mostly diplomas and medals, though there were a small handful of pictures from the city as well.

“So,” Pauline came back with two cups of steaming coffee, “what can I do for you… sorry, what was your name again?”

“Thanks,” she took a faint sip, only to retreat her tongue immediately and softly blow on the coffee instead, “special agent Lucy Kuo.”

“Right, agent Kuo,” Pauline nodded as if it would somehow hammer the name into her memory. “I take this is not some social visit?”

“No, it’s- Power Girl needs help.”

Pauline scoffed, “Not one to beat around the bush, are you?”

“Sorry, maybe Power Girl’s bluntness is rubbing off on me. With the robbers- I just-”

“Yes, I heard,” she leaned deep back in her chair, cupping her coffee. “Quite the mess for what should have been a clean case.”

“Listen, I believe in her, she’s got a good heart and wants to do good. It’s just- god, she’s so stubborn and has all these rough edges poking out all over the place.”

After a long drink, Pauline looked straight at Lucy, “If I may speak freely,” she waited for Lucy to approve, “I’m not a fan agent Kuo. This is a textbook example of people with no idea what reality is like, shoving their brilliant ideas down our throats and all we can do is try not to choke. You say she has a good heart? I haven’t seen anything to indicate that. She’s a thug, a bully that causes more problems than she solves. And- and the sooner those big boys in D.C. or you FBI folks see that, the better we’ll be off.”

“Listen, ma’am, I-” she leaned forward in her seat, “I have a lot of respect for you. Twenty years on the force, being a woman and black in a mostly male-dominated profession. Someone somewhere took a chance on you all those years ago. They could have slammed the door in your face because race or gender or whatever reason they’d figure valid. But here you are, sitting on the greatest seniority of anyone in the 13th Precinct.”

“Margins of error are slim in our line of work, agent Kuo. Power Girl,” the words seemed to have a nasty taste as Pauline said them, “needs to understand this and- that’s- isn’t that your job, your assignment?”

“Correct, but- I’ve- I’ve been on her case ever since the hearing back in D.C. started and…” Lucy looked down into her coffee, “I suspect that… that she sees me as a nagging, annoying, broken record.”

Pauline chuckled a little at that, “Are you?”

“Maybe, but even if I’m not there now, at the rate this is going, I’ll be there for sure in no time flat. Listen, all I’m suggesting is that Power Girl gets exposed to some positive influences while out on the field. You ought to know who can give her a pointer or two, a nudge in the general direction. That’ll smooth out those rough edges faster.”

“Why do you believe in her so strongly, agent Kuo?”

Lucy smiled softly as if she was visiting a fond memory of hers, “When those senators were grilling her in that hearing, she stood there so proud, strong and straight. Professional, direct, clear and precise in her answers. Then, almost on a whim, they asked her what in the world was she thinking, darting into a skyscraper that was on fire like that. She’d already saved people from the debris from the plane, right? _“One more, please let me save just one more,”_ she said, barely holding back her own tears.”

“That’s it?” Lucy’s head bobbed in a nod; a short sniff escaped her as she took great interest on the carpet by her feet. Pauline rocked slightly back and forth in her chair, her eyes had a distant look to them before she spoke up, “Lt. Sid Routman, our Senior Homicide Detective has a real talent with people. Sgt. Mal Lesperance has developed his own reputation as a real cop’s cop, avoiding any hint of scandal or corruption and got involved with the police officers’ union. Alejandra Quintero graduated at the top of her class from the LSPD Academy, and since then she has been a capable and conscientious police officer. Janessa Burch, our Vice Squad Sergeant is a ten-year veteran of the LSPD and has spent the last five assigned to the 13th Precinct as an undercover vice detective. Janessa is extremely good at her job, but she is beginning to find the work demeaning. And Sgt. Gena Buehler, our Undercover Narcotics Detective has been on the LSPD force for eleven years, the last eight in Narcotics. During that time, she has been a highly respected officer at the center of a number of high-profile drug busts that have made the MPD Narcotics Division one of the most successful Narcotics units in the nation. We have the people, whether Power Girl is willing to listen to them or not is a different matter.”


	3. Radio Starr

With the morning sun hanging low on the horizon, drawing long and dark shadows across the beach, Karen slugged over to Muscle Sands Gym. Her feet kicked through the sand rather than actually walking over it and every movement she made was sharp and intense. Frequently she shot out these hot, short breaths through her nose like a kettle that couldn’t quite be sure if it was boiling or not. The bag landed by her feet with a thud as soon as she arrived at the gym. Fingers worked fast and impatiently to latch on to the edges of her t-shirt before her arms flung themselves upwards. They came to a sudden pause halfway over the head at the sound of fabric tearing. 

A groan of deep-rooted frustration rattled behind her clenched teeth. Her arms danced around her in a short and violent dance, shredding the t-shirt. Clenched fists boxed the shredded remains into her bag and yanked out her water bottle. She took a deep drink before showering her face with the cold water, her hand worked hard to rub away the boiling frustration inside her. With water still dripping from the tip of her nose, Karen looked around, searching the gym like a prowling tiger. 

“These will do,” she settled on a pair of heavy dumbbells. 

The sun had made good progress towards high noon by the time Vernon came by. He circled through the other patrons, exchanging superficial compliments and greetings as he went by. It was only when he spotted Karen that he paused dead in his tracks. Her lateral raise form was next to excellent, but there was something off about her nonetheless. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, though if Vernon were to be pressed for an answer it’d be that despite the discipline and precision in Karen’s movements, there was this undercurrent of something wild and intense that left him awestruck. 

“Good day Ms. Starr,” his voice lacked the usual confident edge. Karen kept raising and lowering the dumbbells at a steady rhythm as if in a world of her own. 

“Uh, Earth to Karen Starr?” he waved his hand in her line of sight. “Hello?” 

“Two hundred and fifty-eight, two hundred and fifty-nine, morning Vernon,” she gave him a barely visible nod, “two hundred and sixty.” 

Vernon scratched the side of his cheek, “Morning? You do know its past twelve am, right?” 

“No,” the dumbbells came down to a rest at the floor, “not really.” 

“Everything okay?” 

Karen eyed him suspiciously from the corner of her eye as she helped herself with a drink of water, “Why? What makes you think something’s off?” 

“I dunno. You just- your form was great and you were really on fire, but…” he put his hands on his hips, looking down on the floor. 

“Look,” Karen swiped her face clean of sweat with her towel, “we all have good days and bad days, right? I just happen to have a string of bad days. Figured I might as well sweat out all the shit that’s been piling up in my system.” 

Vernon nodded and shrugged, “Want to talk about it?” 

“Not really, you’re doing legs today right?” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Today’s leg day.” 

Karen slapped him on the back a few times, “Warm up while I secure us a squat rack. I’ll spot for you.” 

A couple of hours later Vernon tossed in the towel. As he and Karen collected their things, she was reminded of what had become of her t-shirt. She just sighed and shook her head; her shoulders sank a little in disappointment. Regardless Karen collected herself and looked around the various shops for a new t-shirt. While she did her window shopping, Vernon lingered around nearby. It was clear that he had no real reason to stick around and any sensible adult would simply say goodbye and go about their business. Vernon on the other hand tried his hardest to look like he had some excuse to still be within ears reach of Karen. When Karen finally settled on a cheap _I_ _♥_ _Vespucci_ from the obviously classy beach store J’s t-shirts, Vernon saw his chance. 

“Say, Karen, are you hungry by any chance? Want to join me over at Muscle Peach? My treat.” 

She frowned skeptically at the place, it could use a fresh coat of paint or seven. The logo consisted of a peach with a muscular chest and flexing arms. Neither the staff nor the clientele was particularly appealing, but on the flip side, those five-star restaurants made Karen feel even more out of place. Even so, she was hungry now that Vernon had mentioned it, even after a large breakfast and a protein shake during training. The menu consisted mostly of various fruit shakes and other healthy meals, no doubt a quick way to get starved gym rats to part with their money. 

Karen shrugged, “Sure, why not?” 

They found themselves a table in the shade and placed their orders. For a while they just sat there, looking at the people as they walked by, long time veterans who knew the place like the back of their hand and confused, if not totally lost tourists trying their best to get their bearings. Whether it was because of a moment of peace and quiet or just fatigue from a hard workout routine in the sun Karen couldn’t tell, but she did find herself melting away as her eyelids grew heavier by the minute. 

“So, uh,” Vernon cleared his throat, shattering the calm between them, “how have you been?” 

“Not too good,” she looked at him sideways, her eyes tired and weary. 

“Right, you uh… you mentioned that,” the ice cubes in his glass clattered as he took a sip. “If- if you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. Well, I might not be able to magically wisp your problems away, but-” 

“Whisk.” 

He blinked at her, a frown sank over his face as he said, “Pardon?” 

“You said wisp when it should have been whisk,” Karen shrugged faintly and barely gave away a smile. 

“I did not,” Vernon crossed the arms across his chest, leaning back in his seat. 

Karen chuckled softly, her hand reached out and stroked his arm as she said, “Did too.” 

“Did not, but anyway. What’s eating you?” 

She looked at him, her eyes distant in thought. A word hung on her lips just when the waiter came with their orders. Karen shifted uncomfortably in her seat and cleared her throat before offering the waiter a semi-genuine smile of gratitude. Her shoulders sank down with a deflating sigh while her face didn’t look all that thrilled at the sight of her order. “Look, things- stuff at work isn’t really going that well.” 

“Boss giving you a hard time?” 

Karen scoffed and pulled her smoothie closer, jabbing the straw around absentmindedly, “Staff actually. And- and there’s this one… co-worker, I guess? Anyway, she’s always, always on my case.” 

Vernon leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, “How so?” 

“I- look, I’m more _the end justifies the means_ kinda gal and she’s- I don’t know, all rules, regulation, procedure and all that other- stuff,” her hands circled around near her ears in a dismissive gesture. 

“Sounds tough,” he nodded to himself. 

“Yeah, well- she kinda- maybe she’s got a point every now and then, but that only adds insult to injury. _Oh, look at me, I’m Ms._ _Fede_ _\- fancy-pants-know-it-all. I’m right, you’re wrong. I’ll try not to be a total bitch and say I told you so._ ” 

Vernon’s hand slapped down on the table which gave Karen a small jolt in her seat, “Tell you what. You and me, we’re going to say screw it and have a good time.” 

It took a small moment, but as soon as the dots connected in Karen’s mind a smug smile curved her lips, “Well, well, well. Wasn’t that a smooth little Segway into asking me out?” 

“Why thank you, I’m glad you approve,” he gave her an exaggerated bow. “Of course, you’re free to decline if you so desire.” 

“Nah, what do you suggest?” 

Vernon looked around him and stroked his chin, apparently making a show of thinking really careful about what to say next, “How about an evening of shameless self-indulgence along the Del Perro Pier?” 

“Ice cream, milkshakes, hot dogs, and rollercoasters?” Karen raised her smoothie for a toast, “Sounds like a plan to me.” 

Vernon toasted with his own smoothie, their glasses clinked together, “Fantastic!” 

* * *

The calm of the night was shattered by the rumbling rollercoaster and high-pitched screams. Karen stood by the end of the pier, sipping slowly on her milkshake. Her soft maxi skirt billowed around her legs as a late-night breeze flew by. By her side stood Vernon, carefully examining his hand to make sure no stray stains of ketchup from his hotdog was left behind. The first stars of the night started to twinkle into view while Karen listened to the soothing rhythm of ocean waves rolling in underneath the pier. 

“I had fun today,” she said more to herself than to anyone particular. 

“Hmm? What was that?” Vernon was sucking on his pinkie finger, so his question came out a little muffled. 

“No, it was nothing,” she leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder, “just talking-” 

Karen paused and looked down on her purse as if it was a dead cat. A grumble of a sigh escaped her before her hand dived down and fished out her cell phone. Her eyes shifted between Vernon’s face and the display on her phone while her thumb lingered on the hang-up button. In the last minute, she changed her mind and answered it. 

“Yes, hello?” her tone was cold and artificially polite. 

“Sorry to bother you ma’am, but I think you should come back.” 

“Sonia, this is the fifth time you’ve- whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.” 

The other half of the conversation paused, if Karen were to guess Sonia seemed to talk to someone else for a moment before she came back on, “I’m terribly sorry ma’am, but-” 

“It. Can. Wait.” 

“Ma’am, it's special agent Kuo.” Karen turned and looked towards her yacht as it rested out in the ocean. As her vision zoomed in on the windows of the bridge, true enough she could see Lucy pacing about. By the looks of it, her patience was running dry. 

“Alright, alright,” she sighed and looked helplessly at Vernon, shrugging an apology to him, “look, tell her I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay? Bye, bye.” 

“Trouble?” 

“Worse,” she packed away her phone and tossed the milkshake in the trash, “work.” 

He smiled a little sheepishly, “Ah, well… it was fun while it lasted and to be fair, we’ve been here for quite some time now. Need a lift?” 

“Mm? Oh, no. I’ll just- fly off or something,” she gestured vaguely up at the sky, “we’re going in opposite directions anyway. But thanks for the offer, appreciate it.” 

Under the cover of the moonless night, Karen circled down to the beach underneath the pier and with shoes in hand, flew off towards her yacht. Carefully she stayed as close to the water as possible and took the long route around so that the yacht was between her and the beach when she finally boarded. She made a quick pit stop by her bedroom, tossing her purse and shoes inside before heading to the bar up the front of the yacht. 

“Where have you been?” Lucy sat by the bar, far too busy playing with whatever she was drinking to turn around. 

“What are you? My mom?” Karen stomped up to the bar like a teenager who’d just been robbed of her first kiss due to her parents meddling. 

“Listen that came out wrong. I just-” Lucy paused and looked Karen up and down from head to toe. 

A small moment ticked by before Karen said, “Okay, I give up. What is it now?” 

“You been on a date?” 

“Why yes, special FBI agent Lucy Kuo, as a matter of fact, I have. What gave me away? The lipstick, earrings or perhaps my tasteful choice of perfume?” 

Lucy didn’t look amused at all as she said, “Easy there Kara. We’re both on the same side here, remember?” 

“The way you keep showing up and nagging about it, I’d need more than one bottle of Jack’s to forget. But let us not bicker like childish little girls, what brings you to my humble raft, oh fair officer of the law?” Karen spread her arms out in an over the top greeting, complete with a deep bow. 

“Cut it out, will you? I spoke with Det. Pauline Reed out on the 13th and we have a proposal for you.” 

Karen looked at her dumbfounded, “You- look, am I getting this straight? I’m dragged out here just to hear about some dumbass proposal?” 

“Listen, this is important Goddamnit,” Lucy jabbed her finger on the bar counter, “your career as a public servant is hanging by a thread and I’m doing my best to keep you out there, free as a freakin’ bird rather than locked up in some godforsaken, Area 51 like lab or God forbid, in a casket six feet below the grass. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?” 

Karen’s eyes lit up with fury while her face did a poor man’s job at maintaining a calm composure. After a moment of staring down Lucy, Karen finally yielded with a pout, “Yes…” 

“Good, now,” Lucy let out a sigh of relief, “where was I? Yeah, Det. Pauline. We agreed to have you work closely together with certain officers on the 13th precinct. I managed to convince her that, while you have some rough edges, these can be worked out and some positive influence from other police officers is probably our best bet.” 

“This is ridiculous,” Karen left her seat and circled around behind the bar. 

“Alright, what would you rather do then?” 

She smacked a glass hard down on the counter, a small handful of ice cubes clattered inside it. Karen looked sternly at Lucy as if daring her to stop her. When Lucy didn’t make any moves one way or the other, Karen just scoffed and poured herself a glass of sparkling water, complete with a slice of lemon attached to the edge. 

“Right now? Getting laid.” 

“Kara!” 

“What? Look, you’re still not my mom,” she pointed an accusing finger at Lucy, glass still in hand. “And unlike _someone_ , I’m actually trying to have a life outside the good ol’ serve and protect. Fuck me for wanting intimacy, right?” 

“Oh God, this was such a mistake,” Lucy buried her face in her hands, moaning in agony. “Should just have left a freakin’ voice message.” 

“Yeah, what a great idea. Check out the brains on Ms. FBI everyone. I’d just listen to your message while handing out parking tick-” Karen stopped with the glass right at her lips, her face turned into a frown as if she had something important on the tip of her tongue. 

“What?” 

“Message, playback… I- I remember,” her finger trembled as if she could almost touch her memory but was afraid if she did it’d shatter and be lost forever. “They played back their messages for me, one long message. Dynamic algorithm- it changed- shifted and adjusted itself.” 

“Okay, I’m lost.” 

Without warning, Karen darted out of the bar in a manner that had Lucy look after her with a baffled and worried expression. She groaned to herself before mustering up the strength and resolve to give chase. Through the corridors of the yacht, Lucy was just out of reach of Karen, always just barely catching a fleeting glimpse of her strong shoulders and blonde hair before it rounded a corner. The chase, if that was even the proper term, ended in Karen’s bedroom. She was on her knees on the floor by the wardrobe, shuffling through a drawer. 

Finally, she found what she was looking for, a simple transparent, glass-like box that was divided in tow. Its content was a thick, soup-like substance that had a cold, metallic blue color to it. Karen opened the box and dipped her fingers into the liquid. Initially, it parted away as if it didn’t want to touch her fingers, but it quickly warmed up to the idea and climbed up Karen’s hand and wrist, not leaving a single drop behind in the box. The strange fluid shifted around and gradually gained more and more shape and form until it settled in as a solid bracelet. 

“Huh, so that’s how those work,” Lucy said with genuine amazement. 

“Look, look at this,” Karen got to her feet and practically shoved the bracelet underneath Lucy’s nose. 

“Get back,” she tried to push Karen back a little, but to no effect. “Yes, yes that’s a nice and shiny bracelet with a sweet- I don’t know, shapeshifting feature. Great. Now listen, could you step back a little? Please?” 

“These are Nano-machines Lucy.” 

“Say what now?” 

Karen started pacing around her bedroom, her face lit up with a smile of excitement and pure joy, “Super tiny robots, a whole colony of them. And- and they had a message. A message that they played back. To me. From- from my parents.” 

“Well, okay,” Lucy regained some of her composure, “glad to hear that one hole in your Swiss cheese memory has been plugged. Only like, six hundred million to go.” 

“Don’t you get it? These are machines, Lucy. Maybe- just- no that, but maybe these can be made compatible with human technology and I can playback the message from my parents.” 

It was a strange sight to see Karen Starr, extra-terrestrial from a distant world, arguably the strongest being on the planet, jump around like a little girl on Christmas Eve, bubbling with unfiltered happiness. She continued to do these improvised little dance steps while marveling at her bracelet for what felt like an eternity. 

“Listen, not to be a party pooper, but how does this help you? I mean, aside from hearing from your parents.” 

“Hmm?” Karen stopped and pondered for a moment. “Okay, look. These- these colonies of Nano-machines weren’t in with me in the pod, alright. So- sooooooo… they, they were in the back and you can’t connect wires to them. I think. Therefore… uh… wireless transmissions. Which means…?” 

Lucy looked at her with a mixed expression of being both flabbergasted and completely lost, “I give up.” 

“Maybe I can use these suckers to tap into radio signals. Oh, how about Wi-Fi hotspots? Stars above, the possibilities are endless!” 

“Great, fantastic,” Lucy patted Karen on the shoulder, “why don’t you work on that, hmm? And when you’re ready, let me know and we’ll talk with Det. Pauline. Together, alright?” 

* * *

“What do we know about wireless transmissions?” Everyone in the meeting room at StarrWARE paused, carefully exchanging looks or possibly looking for hidden cameras that would expose the prank after Karen threw the question out with a perfectly straight face. 

“Uh, well…” Dexter coughed to clear his throat, “We- we- ah, there’s. What does this have to do with Apple launching their own phone?” 

“Not much, but come on Dexter,” Karen got up from her seat and started walking around the room, “we’ve known about the ePhone since January. That’s like… decades ago in computer time.” 

“iPhone, it’s called an iPhone ma’am.” 

“Whatever. Well, anyone?” 

“Ms. Starr, if I may,” Simon got up from his seat and buttoned up his jacket, “we’re trying to keep this freshly started company afloat. One potentially very lucrative way to do so is to get a foot in the door with Apple. Chances are that the new software ecosystem that will come out from this new phone will be huge, not to mention profitable.” 

“Yes, yes, yes. That’s all well and good, but…” Simon actually rolled his eyes when he realized that Karen simply wouldn’t let this seemingly random idea of hers go, “but is there a way to… listen in on radio transmissions? Do we have something like that in-house? Something we can hammer together from bits and pieces?” 

“For God’s sake Ms. Starr, you can’t be serious.” 

Karen blinked at Simon; the room fell so quiet one could hear hair on the back of people’s necks rise in suspense. “Wow Simon, look at you go. I never thought you had it in you.” 

He clapped his hands, smashing the heavy silence as he said, “Alright, meeting’s over everyone. And Ms. Starr? Please, indulge yourself in your little new pet project. As long as you don’t stop handing out paychecks, it’s not like we care what you spend your time on. Clearly, you’re not spending it here, with your employees and business.” 

The rest of the staff quietly packed together their things and left the room in a single file, quiet as mice before they neatly settled down in front of their desks. Alone in the room stood Karen with a frown on her face, as if she was honestly trying to figure out which social landmine she’d stepped on this time. In the end, she settled with a few deep breaths and straightened her business jacket before finding her seat at the end of the long meeting room table and starting to tap away at her laptop. 

For the rest of the day, Karen frequently shuttled between the meeting room and the tech stop room. During lunch, she passed on an invitation to join the others for a quick bite and instead headed outside for some shopping. When she came back, she had a small handful of various earphones and Bluetooth headsets. Peace and quiet got interrupted at irregular intervals as Karen sporadically decided to pry the occasional headset wide open, using the heel of her shoe as a makeshift hammer. She’d then study the components meticulously, only shifting her attention to the user manual ever so often. 

“Is everything alright?” 

Karen looked up from a tiny circuit board and in the direction of the voice. In the glass doorway to the meeting room stood Mr. Carlson, the old-timer among her employees. Well apparently, anyone in the software industry that had spent more than four decades on the planet was old, or so the saying went. The youngsters threw friendly jabs in his direction during lunch, calling him George Costanza on account of his glasses and receding hairline. Mr. Carlson wasn’t much of a programmer, but when it came to hardware he was worth his weight in gold. 

“What does it look like to you, Mr. Carlson?” she stretched backward in her chair, trying to reach the ceiling. 

“A mess. If you needed tools, you could have just come to the tech stop and ask you know.” 

“I know, I know,” Karen sighed and looked at the dozens of little pieces scattered over the desk. “I really don’t have much to show for, do I?” 

Mr. Carlson looked over his shoulder and stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him, “What are you trying to do Ms. Starr? If you don’t mind me saying so, it looks like you’re trying a dozen things at once.” 

“Look, I’m trying to- I need a device that can pick up on radio signals broadcasted from a unit, but I’m not sure if any of these do-dads are up for the job.” 

“Does it have to be this small?” Mr. Carlson picked up one of the intact headphones for closer inspection. 

“Ideally yes, those big noise-canceling headphones would just be- clunky and awkward.” 

Mr. Carlson pulled up a chair, “Well then, what do you know about the signal you wish to pick up?” 

The two of them put their heads together and worked on coming up with a device that suited Karen’s needs. Despite the vague specifications, Mr. Carlson had the patience of a rock and was okay with the fact that Karen didn’t or couldn’t answer all of his questions. Hours flew by and their work was only brought to a pause when Mr. Carlson’s phone rang. He excused himself and stepped outside for a moment. While Karen examined the current prototype, her mind drifted and her super hearing picked up snippets of Mr. Carlson’s call. Apparently, his son turned ten just the other day. 

He said, “Thanks for the ball, dad, come on home and let's play. Can you teach me to throw?” 

Mr. Carlson said, “Not today, I got a lot to do.” 

His son’s voice sounded different, a twisted form of sad understanding as he said, “That's ok.” 

The last thing Karen overheard as he pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up was his son in the distance as he said, “Dad’s working really hard. One day, I'm gonna be like him. You know mom, I'm gonna be like him.” 

When Mr. Carlson came back in, Karen was quick to get out of her seat and said with a forced smile on her face, “Look, I appreciate your help. I really do, but I think that’s enough for today.” 

“Really? But we still haven’t encased it yet.” 

“How long will that take?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, two maybe three hours?” 

“Okay, how about we-we start that process now and let it sit overnight,” Karen suggested. “That way we can pick up the finished prototype tomorrow, yes? Is that even possible, leave it alone overnight? I mean, it’s just a plastic casing, right?” 

Mr. Carlson mulled it over a few times in his head before he nodded in agreement. The two of them retreated to the tech stop and started the improvised process of making a plastic casing for the headset. As soon as it started ticking and Mr. Carlson gave it an okay, Karen ushered him out through the doors, assuring him that she’d perfectly fine cleaning up and closing for the night. 

“Okay, now tidy up this mess and get some food. And a toilet break.” 


	4. Thunderstruck

With the prototype headset finally secured in her purse, Karen’s eagerness to test it out prompted her to rush up to the roof. The lukewarm air of the spring night washed over her face as the sound of traffic and city life poured into her ears. She glanced up, a carpet of thick clouds rolled over the skies, hiding the stars and moon. One last check around and Karen shot straight up at neck-breaking speeds. For a brief moment, everything was a muddled mess of misty smoke, but just then Karen popped over the clouds where the crisp cold air greeted her and thousands of stars shimmered on the night sky. Small clouds of frost smoke danced and morphed just in front of her lips and nose while she looked at the stars. Her hand drifted to her purse; its fluid movements were those of an old habit. With an almost dreamy glassed gaze in her eyes, Karen pops a chewing gum in her mouth and smiled to herself as she got her bearings.

“Good evening ma’am,” Sonia greeted Karen as she came in for a soft landing on the helicopter deck on the yacht. “I was about to call the office, but apparently you don’t need to be picked up. Is something wrong?”

Karen squinted her eyes, her face shifted with discomfort, “Look, can you be a darling and get me to the bathroom? My contact lenses are acting up.”

Sonia took Karen’s hand and guided her through the ship, “Forgot to remove them before flying again?”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it off,” Karen said, her tone suggesting that she didn’t mind this minor embarrassment in the grand scheme of things, “but I might be on a major breakthrough. I might be able to hear, maybe even talk to my parents.”

They arrived at the master bathroom, “I see,” Sonia said, her words came out distant and indifferent as she was more focused on administrating eye drops to Karen.

The lenses on Karen’s eyes thawed and softened. She blinked and checked herself in the mirror, carefully removing the lenses. The toned-down grey-blueish right eye and dark brown left eye disappeared and Karen’s real eye color surfaced with their inhumanly vibrant blue shade. With the old contacts in the trash, Karen headed for her wardrobe and collected her cape, suit, and boots. There was no hint of shame or shyness in the flow of her movements as she started to strip down. She tugged and pulled on the suit, its fabric stretched and protested much like a wetsuit would. When her arms were in place, she turned her back to Sonia and said, “Zip me up, please?”

“Of course, ma’am,” she stepped right up and slowly drew up the zipper, hiding Karen’s muscular back and shoulders behind the thick suit. “You’re heading out immediately?”

“Just a quick test run of this new gadget. Shouldn’t take long,” Karen said before she flopped down on her bed and stepped into her boots.

“Ma’am, if I may?” Sonia stood by her side, offering her cape. “There’s a storm rolling in tonight. Please be careful.”

“Look, Cap'n,” Karen took the cape, the string of golden medallions clanked softly together, “I’ll be fine. Be back here faster than a speeding bullet. Besides, the suit is waterproof.”

“Of course, ma’am. Have a safe trip.”

A few minutes later and Power Girl was lingering underneath the clouds over Vinehood Hills. The earpiece wasn’t really a snug fit, but as long as it was working, she was happy with it. Any kinks and flaws could be ironed out later. With the earpiece on, Power Girl turned her attention to her bracelets. She looked at them, but neither seemed to give any indication that they were responding. A grumble bounced around in the back of her throat before she started to poke the bracelets like a fool too proud to read the user manual for her latest gadget. Her eyes squinted at one of the bracelets and her microscopic vision kicked in, taking her ever closer and deeper in. The bracelet's texture appeared to be shifting around, almost like a soggy miniature ocean. Whenever she touched it, the surface deformed for a moment before settling back into its floaty default.

“C’mon you stupid- work, will you?”

In the back of her head, an idea drifted forward, presenting itself to Power Girl’s attention. It was a silly idea, but a timeless classic in the world of human computers. Turn it off and on again. Of course, the obvious problem was that these bracelets didn’t have any clearly defined power button or any buttons for that matter. Her fingers ended up swiping and tapping at random, mimicking the gestures she’d seen Steve Jobs do when he presented the iPhone to the world. Suddenly her hand froze. She heard something, or at the very least she thought she heard something. A faint, familiar voice in a strange language. “Mom…?”

Without warning the earpiece exploded in a torrent out sounds. Power Girl flinched and pulled it out of her ear, the sudden spike in volume hurt extra much since she’d been straining her hearing to the limit moments earlier. The initial surprise died down and she carefully, almost fearful put the earpiece back in. “Nate and Steve on your radio here,” the voice said.

“Yeah, we're radio sidekicks that don't touch each other inappropriately.”

“Much...”

Power Girl pumped her fist up in the air and did a victory pirouette. The earpiece was working. Now all she needed to do was to figure out how to properly operate the bracelet and see if it also had a microphone functionality. Listening in on the police radio was one thing, communicating with them was a different beast. While she continued to explore the surface of her bracelet with a variety of swipes, taps and pokes, the clouds above Power Girl decided it was about time they dropped their water. Rather than landing for shelter or even flying away, Power Girl remained in place and simply pulled her cape over the back of her head while she hunched over to shelter the bracelet from the rain.

Minutes ticked by and Power Girl’s fingers moved, sometimes at random and other times it was almost like a far-flung corner of her memory took charge and moved them for her. Whenever this happened, she got one step closer to her goal. Just as she heard police dispatch chatter in her earpiece, the clouds above her flushed with pale white light and a deep rumble followed mere seconds afterward. Power Girl timidly peeked up from under her soaked cape up at the angry clouds. Then a sharp, bright light that stabbed her vision. Her whole body cramped up, pain pierced her so fast and hard she couldn’t get out a sound, let alone breathe. It was over in an instant and just as the light from the thunder faded, gravity folded its hands around her body, pulling her down faster and faster.

She landed hard on top of a car that broke off her fall in a crude manner, shattered glass and bent metal surrounded her. In the corner of her ear, she thought she heard something, a steady rhythm of a sound that was in sync with the pulsating orange light that painted her surroundings. When she tried to move, everything hurt. It hurt in places she didn’t even know she had. The heavy raindrops jabbed at her skin, they felt more like corns of hard hail than a soft spring rain. Heck, even breathing hurt. Her vision was blurry as it floated around, leaving ghostly transparent footprints behind whenever she looked from one thing to the next. A chill started to sink its fangs into Power Girl’s body, injecting a bitter cold that seeped into her very bones.

Somehow, she realized she was not alone. Someone was by her side, stroking her chin. Distressed and panicked movements patted up and down Power Girl’s body, making her wince in pain while she tried to turn away. A pair of arms interlocked with hers and pulled, her shoulder and neck muscles screamed out in pain. Or was it something that came out of her mouth? She couldn’t tell, her ears were still ringing. Suddenly the arms let go and in the pulsating orange lights, Power Girl saw only a vague silhouette disappearing into the rainy night. Another bigger hand rested on her forehead. She heard a voice, questions maybe? Before she could turn over, Power Girl slipped into a dark, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The sound of rain relentlessly drumming on large windows crept into Power Girl’s ears, gradually dragging her out of her slumber and into the waking world. Softly dimmed lights illuminated the room, with vague shadows from a glass-encased fireplace occasionally doing a little dance over the walls. Her body felt heavy as lead as soon as she started to get up, the leather sofa creaked gently underneath her. A blanket was firmly wrapped around her legs while her boots were on the floor. Power Girl sank back down, the soft warmness of her pillow embraced her head tenderly. To her left was a wall of windows, a telescope stood on its tripod and aimed up at the night sky. On her right-hand side was a wall section, separating the living room from the dining area and kitchen beyond. She could catch a glimpse of both through the bookshelves just next to the fireplace.

“Oh, you’re finally awake. Good,” a man said, he was sitting in a chair just opposite of the glass coffee table.

He put his book aside and got out of his seat before he disappeared into the kitchen. Power Girl traced his movements carefully with her eyes, her mind finally seemed to stop spinning enough so she starts to get her bearings. Looking up at the plain white ceiling helped too. A faucet ran for a moment, then ice clattered into a glass and the man returned. Carefully he helped Power Girl sit up and offered her the glass of water. When she tried to reach for it, Power Girl’s motion control didn’t seem confident or fluid. Hesitantly she took the glass with both hands and drank deeply. The cold water did wonders for her burning throat.

“How do you feel?”

She looked at him, the words stuck at the back of her throat, she almost had to burp them out, “Like shit.”

A smile crossed the man’s face, “Sounds about right.”

“How- how long was I out? Where- what happened?” a shudder ran through her body and her fingers tucked at her blanket, pulling it closer.

“Almost three hours. I found you on the top of my car, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you fell out of the sky like a rock. Do you remember what happened?”

Power Girl looked at him, a confused expression of her face. She gazed around the living room while she let the words sink in. Try as she might, Power Girl couldn’t quite retrace her memories. There was Mr. Carlson at the office, she locked the office and then… something about stars. “No, it- my memory pulls out a blank. I remember the late afternoon, but not- what part of town is this?”

“Vinewood. Normandy Drive to be specific.”

“Vine- what in the world was I doing here?” she tilted her head to the side and something small dropped from her ear. “Oh, is- is this yours or mine?”

The man looked at the little trinket, “Looks like a- uh, earpiece. Not mine though.”

“Okay, look sir- I, I appreciate your help, but I really should be going,” Power Girl said as she reached for her boots.

“Ma’am, I’d advise against it.”

“Uh-huh, what are you? A doctor?”

The man held on to Power Girl’s wrist as if to urge her to stop getting dressed, “As a matter of fact I am. Doctor Pieter Anton Cross at your service.”

Power Girl looked at him with a deadpan expression for a moment before she licked her lips and said, “A pleasure. But,” she pulled her hand free and stepped into her boot, “in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not human.”

Dr. Cross rose together with her, meeting her eyes with his own, “I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know much about how you work, but ma’am… when I found you out in the rain, you were weak, unconscious and shaking from either cold, shock or both. Now you tell me truthfully that that is normal.”

“Look. You worry too much doc, I’m Power Girl, the strongest and most durable being on the planet.”

“Strong enough to be struck by lightning?” he crossed the arms over his chest as if it was more of a dare than a question. “If I were to guess, I’d say that’s what happened to you. You- you got hit by lightning and fell out of the sky. Heck, at first, I thought lightning had hit my car and somehow triggered the alarm. Now maybe you’re fine, just a little shaky, but even so, I’d urge you to rest. At the very least for the rest of the night.”

Power Girl scoffed at him, “And just for shits and giggles… ideally speaking, you’d want me to do what?”

“A full check-up obviously,” he shrugged as if the answer was self-explanatory. “The way- the way you acted when you woke up? I don’t think this has ever happened to you and you’re scared. Now, you look fine on a passing glance, but if my hunch is right something is off and you know it. Maybe you can feel it or there’s some sort of throbbing pain-”

“Doc, doc. Look,” she spun around slowly in front of him, “I’m fine, see? Thanks for the water.”

While she made it to the front door just fine, Power Girl had to grit her teeth hard to cope with the searing pain in her joints. Once outside the skies above showered her with rain. When a gust of wind darted past her, Power Girl knew that something was off. She was getting cold. Her arms folded around her as her shoulders sank down. A sharp huff shot out from her nose and her foot stomped down on the ground as if it was squashing whatever worries that were floating inside her. Her back straightened, shoulders fell back and her chin rose to the challenge. One hand reached up towards the dark, rolling clouds above and nothing.

“That’s odd…” she muttered to herself before she tried again, this time she even stood on her toes. Again nothing. “I- I can’t fly.”

Power Girl retreated away from the streets and pondered her next move. Vinewood hills were on the other side of town from where she needed to be. She was up in the hills and the home was just off Vespucci beach. That was a long-ass walk, not to mention a painful one considering how her joints complained whenever she made any major moves. “It’s dark, I’m cold, wet, alone and in pain. Stars and stone, this is pathetic Kara, really pathetic,” she rubbed her arms for warmth when she felt something stab her.

Looking at the earpiece stuck between her fingers, Power Girl’s memory finally decided to connect some handy dots and she quickly started trying to get it to work again. After some long and increasingly freezing moments, Power Girl concluded that while her bracelets were still working, her little earpiece was dead as a rock. She did some short and painful bunny hops while hugging herself to keep warm as well as trying to jumpstart her brain to come up with an alternative to simply walking all the way home. The prospect of swimming the last stretch out to her yacht didn’t appeal to her either. Partially because she couldn’t swim any more than she could drive a car. The power of flight and a lot of money rendered both skillsets kind of moot.

Another thunder flashed behind the clouds and in the corner of her eye, Power Girl saw the dark and sharp silhouette of a cell phone tower. She blinked the heavy drops of rain from her eyes as her mind seem to go into overdrive, fanatically searching for a solution. Her eyes rolled as if she couldn’t believe herself, but nonetheless staggered forward to try this silly idea of hers. It was a short climb up to the cell phone tower as it was attached to the side of a building, yet it felt like an eternity and with limbs that felt like they were made out of concrete didn’t really help all that much.

Power Girl pressed her bracelet against the antenna and tapped, swiped and poked at its surface, “Come one, come on, pretty please with sugar on top. Work. Just- this is insane. How am I to even going to call, there are no numbers on this thing.”

The texture of the bracelet flickered and shifted. A panel carved itself out, breaking from the default spiraled lines pattern. Symbols, really weird yet strangely nostalgic symbols cluttered around inside the panel. Power Girl paused and swallowed. Okay, that was step one. Step two was figuring out what these symbols actually meant. Numbers, letters or just random gibberish that popped up because some dumb bitch shoved the bracelet too close to a cell phone tower. For a moment all bets seemed to be off. Then, trusting her guts, Power Girl pressed the ones that simply felt right.

Nothing happened. Power Girl was about to give up when she felt the bracelet vibrate. It vibrated at a steady rhythm, like a phone ringing. “Did- did it work? He-hello?” Power Girl said into the bracelet, her voice timid, almost shy.

When Power Girl realized that even if she made the connection, she was unable to hear who was on the other end, she felt like an idiot. To add insult to injury, she also realized that it was highly unlikely that her bracelet, for all its fancy space magic tech, probably didn’t have a built-in microphone. “You dumbass motherfucker… Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Sonia? Can you hear me? This is fucking stupid. I need you or someone to come pick me up, okay? I’m at- uh- let’s see here- Normandy Drive and- and Milton Road. The corner of Normandy and Milton, got it? Okay, thanks. And please hurry. It’s freezing out here.”

A good fifteen minutes later and Power Girl thought she saw a familiar car stop at the intersection. The driver stepped out with an umbrella and flashlight, looking around for something or someone. Even if it wasn’t Sonia or someone else from the yacht, Power Girl was so cold, wet and overall miserable by now that she’d be more than happy to swallow her stubborn pride and just hitch a ride home or to the nearest police station. As she stepped out from the bushes, the beam from the flashlight landed square on her face for a brief moment before the person rushed over to her. Sonia’s umbrella was a welcome shelter from the pouring rain. “Well, well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Power Girl’s voice trembled almost as much as she did.

“Let’s get you home ma’am, with all due haste.”

* * *

Kara slept in the following day, bundled up deep under the covers of her bed. The warm bath Sonia had more or less dropped her into as soon as they got on board helped take some of the chills off, but Kara still felt an inner cold and heavy. She’d slept like a rock and if the crew were to be believed, snored like a dozen chainsaws run amok. It wasn’t until well past noon that Kara finally managed to find some apatite, even then the food tasted next to nothing. The soup was just warm and wet in her mouth, though it smelled quite nice. Its spicy sharpness helped clear up her nose if nothing else.

“Also, special agent Kuo is here to see you,” Sonia said when the chief stewardess left the room.

“Well, whoop de fucking doo…”

“How’s our little sunshine today?” Lucy entered the room, there was something sadistically about her smile.

“Leave me alone,” Kara groaned, hiding underneath a pillow, “I don’t gloat when you’re hungover.”

“Is this what it is? Just how much did you have to drink?”

Kara stuck one hand up and pointed in a random direction, “There was this bottle. Big, huge bottle.”

“Uh-huh.”

“An-and now it’s empty.”

“Riiight…” Lucy didn’t sound convinced at all as she took a seat on the edge of Kara’s bed. “Where were you last night, Kara?”

A pause. There was something that tone that Lucy had. That polite, yet _I-know-something’s-up_ tone that parents so often used on kids that they knew had done something bad. Kara sighed and came out from her little pillow fort. Her hair was all over the place while her eyes were both bloodshot and worn out. But for all the mess that she was on the outside, it was nothing compared to what was going on inside. Maybe she and Lucy could do their little dance, a sophisticated ballet of wits and words that would leave both equally dissatisfied.

“Out and about,” she helped herself with some water, “why?”

Lucy straightened and cleared her throat. She didn’t say anything, rather she just looked at Kara’s face without really looking. In the end, she dropped whatever thought she had with a quick shrug of her eyebrows before she fished out a little tape recorder from her jacket. Putting it to rest on the bed, she rewound the tape and when it reached the end, the mechanics inside clacked in place, starting to playback the recording.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

Panting, a heavy breath brushed against the phone at the other end, “Uh you-you gotta send somebody. She’s hurt.”

“Ma’am, who’s hurt?”

“She’s not- she’s not moving and- and it’s raining.”

“Ma’am, who’s hurt? Is she breathing?”

In the background a car drove by, hitting a deep puddle of water fast and hard, “I- I don’t- yes, I think so. She- she was breathing. Yeah.”

“Okay ma’am, slow down. May I have your name please?”

“Ro-Rose. When will they get here? Tell the- tell them to hurry, please? Please, there was this man and- and I just ran. I couldn’t move her. She was too heavy,” Rose’s breathing was ragged. Whether it was from exhaustion or just nerves were hard to tell.

“There was a man? What did he look like?”

Whimpering tickled through from the other end. Rose was breaking apart by the seams. Then came a deep, sharp sniff as if she’d finally managed to secure a grip on her composure, “She’s- go- gonna be alright, right? You’ll send someone an- maybe- maybe she doesn’t need- I told her to get up, but- she’s Power Girl so-”

“Ma’am? Rose? Are you there? Hello?”

The tape ended with a dead, mechanical click. “So,” Lucy said with a gentle nod at the recorder, “where were you last night?”

“Vinewood,” Kara leaned over and pulled something out from the drawer of her bedside table, “field testing this.”

She put the damaged earpiece next to Lucy’s recorder. Kara’s composure was calm and still like a lake. The mood between the two women felt like the two of them were playing some high stakes poker game. Each gauging the other for any hint or clue that could be used in their favor. Lucy picked up the earpiece, “What is it?”

“Radio earpiece still has some kinks in it that need to be sorted out, but it’s compatible with my bracelets which can tap into radio signals. Police frequency included.”

Lucy inspected the earpiece closer, “And how does this little trinket tie in with your apparently unconscious ass putting the fear of God in poor little Rose here, hmm?”

“Weather messed up the electronics,” Kara shrugged, “caught me off guard, lost my concentration and I smashed into the ground. Came to after a while, went home, got drunk and I’m currently really regretting that last part.”

“This little thing here,” Lucy flipped the earpiece back into Kara’s lap, “did more damage than a shotgun blast from point-blank range? Is that what you’re telling me here?”

Kara pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, “Look. First of all, when it happened it felt like a fucking space spider was setting up shop in my ear. Secondly, it was the impact of the fall that knocked me out. I was pretty high up.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yup.”

“Alright then,” Lucy collected her recorder and got up. “But listen, Kara. If something does happen to you, let me know okay? Once you get that earpiece of yours working, you won’t have any excuses either.”

Kara scoffed and dismissed Lucy’s concerns with exaggerated arm gestures, “Oh please, once I’ve had some egg and bacon to get rid of this hangover, I’ll be back in business. In fact, wanna arm wrestle right now? Come on, fight me.”

Lucy just shook her head and left Kara alone and unchallenged. Kara waited until she could hear the engines of Lucy’s helicopter starting up before she left the bed and closed her bedroom door. She was still hurting, almost like she hadn’t properly stretched out after a workout and there was this… the drained sensation that she couldn’t quite shake. When she rose up on her toes in hopes of flying even a small inch off the ground, nothing happened. She was as bound by gravity as any run of the mill human. Fingers hooked underneath the edge of her bed, she strained against it. The bed creaked in protest as it rose. Karen’s face trembled and turned red, her knuckles turned white while her jaws clenched down hard. Suddenly she yielded to the weight, with a loud thud the bed dropped down on the floor, prompting Karen to take a step back. She looked down on the palm of her hand, fingers still trembling and throbbing from the stress.


	5. Maybe it's Maybelline

From the bridge, Sonia listened to the roaring engines of the FBI helicopter grew distant. It wasn’t until she saw it disappearing towards the city that she gave a short nod to her first mate, indicating that she’d be back in a moment. Her first stop was the master bedroom and when she found it empty, Sonia took a moment to strain her ears. While the bathroom door was open, she couldn’t hear any indication of a shower running or splashing about in the tub. Her flawlessly shined shoes made muffled steps as she walked over the thick carpet in the hallway. All she could see as she looked up and down the hall was high-quality furniture, impersonal pieces of art and flowers with landscape paintings scattered about on the walls.

It wasn’t until she arrived at Karen’s, for the lack of a better word, office that she found her. Karen didn’t look too good, even after a long sleep. If Sonia didn’t know any better, she’d say that the light that usually shined so bright from Karen, that trademark radiation was perhaps not extinguished, but most certainly dimmed. She just sat there, a pale imitation of the real deal. A deflated and hollowed husk that was adrift without goal or purpose. This wasn’t the Karen Starr that Sonia had decided to follow. Now, Karen Starr was known for plotting her own course, challenging waves and currents.

“Ma’am?” she knocked politely on the door frame. “Is everything alright?”

Karen looked up from whatever she was working on, the confidence in her eyes was painfully absent. “Nope.”

“If I may,” Sonia took a small step forward and cleared her throat, “coming up in here don’t seem to do you much good.”

“Your concern is appreciated captain,” Karen got up from her chair, carefully tiptoeing around the many computer parts that were scattered over the floor, “but I’m not sure there are any other options for me right now.”

“I- I don’t follow, ma’am.”

“I’m…” Karen spread her arms out helplessly, taking a seat on the edge of her desk, “drained and weak.”

“Ma’am, what really happened last night?”

Karen sighed and grumbled at the same time, her fingers dug into her hair, shuffling and scratching it in rapid frustration. She closed herself off, arms folded around her as if sheltering her from some bitter cold. Her eyes avoided Sonia, they drifted around the room, most of the time dedicated to the floor and the many computer trinkets that were lying about. A heavy sigh escaped her chest before she walked over and straightened a movie poster. Some sci-fi movie titled The Thirteenth Floor that Karen had taken to heart for one reason or another. A rarity since she usually preferred horror movies above all else.

“Might I suggest some alternative relaxation that doesn’t involve you locking yourself up in a room filled with machines?”

“I’m not going to the gym captain. Not like this.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Sonia licked her lips ever so slightly. “I was thinking more along the lines of the spa, massage and perhaps even some… hair trimmings.”

Karen paused and looked at Sonia, behind that tired fog that clouded her face, were hints of a baffled expression as if she couldn’t quite believe the frankness in Sonia’s words. “Pardon?”

“With all due respect ma’am, you currently have legs that could give a tarantella some serious competition and your hair is getting a little on the long side as well.”

A sigh melted into a short string of chuckles before Karen said, “Remember when I saved all those people the first time? Jet fuel burning all over the place? And I ran in, hauled their asses out of there and ran back in again.”

“Yes, quite vividly ma’am. For a while that was the only footage just about every news channel was broadcasting.”

“That day, I had my everyday clothes on top of my suit and… clothes burned up, the suit didn’t. Neither did my hair. You’ll just end up ruining the scissors captain, my hair is about as indestructible as I am.”

“If I may,” Sonia had a moment of hesitation barely painted on her face before she said, “you have limits ma’am and you’ve just said you feel weak, drained.”

“Alright, alright,” Karen raised her hands over her head, “have it your way captain. At least the idea of a long bath and massage sounds appealing. And who knows? Maybe we’ll all get some cheap laughs by breaking scissors.”

Some phone calls and a handful of reservations later, Sonia brought a host of people on board, all for the purpose to pamper with Karen. She’d never really been very ladylike, nearly always leaning towards the more practical side of things. Karen was already a tall woman, so she often said that high heels only added insult to injury. Skirts, for the most part, hindered her movements, either because they were a snug fit or because she’d often had to be mindful of being decent and not flash her underwear to the world by doing backflips. Make-up was one of the few things that Karen was good at, though for the most part, she aimed for a subtle, more natural look. And makeup was completely off the table whenever she suited up or went to the gym.

When it was the hairdresser's turn, Karen was a little anxious as she sat in the chair. They’d done a small test beforehand and much, to everyone’s surprise, Karen’s hair came off like a charm. Though that was just a small test and the idea that they’d just gotten lucky seemed to eat at Karen for the duration of the haircut. The waxing of the legs and armpits was an unpleasant experience, with Karen flinching and pouring out a generous porting of foul words at every rip. Even stripped of her superhuman strength, Karen was still in very good shape and there was some concern that one of her flailing arms would at some point leave someone with a black eye.

“Look at this captain,” Karen mumbled into her pillow as she received a back massage, “heaven on Earth.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided to take my advice ma’am,” Sonia said, the faintest of smiles peeked out from the corner of her lips.

The masseur dug into Karen’s lower shoulders as he said, “You’re quite tense Ms. Starr, lots of knots all over.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me at- Oooh, that’s the spot.”

“Well then, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.”

* * *

Initially, Karen wanted to spend the rest of the day sunbathing but was promptly told to stay indoors due to her freshly waxed legs. Her skin needed rest she was told and while Karen would normally argue or simply ignore such instructions at the first chance she got, she was instead surprisingly mellow and just did what she was told. Sporting sweatpants and a washed-out t-shirt, Karen settled in back in her office and attended to a long string of unanswered emails from StarrWARE staff. One day melted into the next, and Karen was pretty far gone into  _ the zone _ as Sonia called it. Once Karen started working on program code, it usually didn’t take long before her mind dived deeper and deeper into a world of its own.

Her laptop rang, though it took a while for the ringing to drag Karen away from whatever train of thought she was currently riding. A  light tap on the space bar and she said, “ Dexter, where we at? ”

“ We uh, we've run into some delays I'm afraid, ” Dexter shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his webcam showed more of the ceiling than of the man himself.

“ Okay. What's the delay? ”

Dexter held back a yawn while it looked like he rubbed some sleep out of his eye while he said, “ The app gives us an out of memory error. ”

A fingernail tapped her teeth, a quick and steady rhythm, “ Hmm... have you tried manually garbage collecting before allocating more memory? ”

“ Yeah, we've tried that. It completes successfully. Alexandria thinks it might be a bad memory leak, she's checking it now, ” the webcam jerked around violently for a few seconds before it settled down. Judging by the look of his keyboard, Dexter really shouldn't be eating at his desk.

“ Could you look at the compiled code while you're at it? ” Karen took a sip from her Dr. Pepper, only to find it empty.

“ That- wow, I didn't even think of that. That might be it. ”

“ Hope so, keep me posted Dexter, ” Karen shot the empty can towards the trash can like a basketball player, only to miss.

The call ended and for a moment there was a peaceful calm settling in over the office. Karen’s fingers loyally tapped away on her laptop, while her eyes shifted from her screen to the empty soda can on the floor every now and then. A glance down on the clock showed that noon had come and gone and several red wiggly lines scattered over her email suggested that typos were invading. Karen scoffed and closed the laptop shut before she stomped over and tossed the can in the trash. The sound of joints popping tapped through the room as she stretched high and long.

“I need some fresh air. And a change of scenery.”

* * *

Tequi-la-la in West Vinewood. Not really a beacon of high class nor a place Lucy would normally visit, but there are times when you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. The building itself wasn’t appealing even from the outside with an ugly mash of yellow and black paint. A rounded corner was covered with a thick layer of posters and advertisement; comedians, bands and other entertainers. Some of the posters were as old as Lucy, which some would argue gave the place a soul. Lucy’d argue that it meant the place was long overdue for a makeover. The place used to be a restaurant  owned by the mob, but it was closed after a major drug bust in 1982. The bar was reopened in 1983 and became the Mecca of bands and fans of hair metal of the entire country. It’d been days since she’d last spoken with Kara and just as long since the last confirmed sighting of Power Girl. That had people in high places both worried and relieved at the same time, which meant they sent Lucy out to get some answers.

Inside reeked of spilled beer and old cigarette smoke, complete with dark colors on every wall, floor, and ceiling. The dim lights didn’t do much to help, besides hiding the old paint job and vomit stains from yesteryear. Staff or pardons, it was honestly hard to tell the difference, gave Lucy curious looks and even straight-up stares. With her formal business suit and no-nonsense demeanor, Lucy was a far cry from the usual clientele. On the small stage, a couple of college kids were running sound checks, tapping away on a bass guitar and occasionally banging on the drums. Besides that, there was the bartender and a lone customer.

“Alright sir, sure I'll have another one, it’s early,” Karen said, her finger swirled over her head. “Three olives, shake it up, I like it dirty.”

“Okay. This is the last one, deal?”

Lucy stepped up to her, her tone was soaked with disappointment right out the gate, “Karen…”

“Well look who it is… Tequila for my friend here, it makes her flirty,” Karen winked at the bartender, “trust me.”

When the bartender asked with his eyes if it was okay, Lucy just quietly shook her head. “What are you doing?”

Karen gave a burp before she grinned widely, “Looking good and having fun. You should try it, especially the first bit.”

Lucy eyed Karen up and down as she sat there on the barstool. She wore a pair of high, thick leather boots that stop just shy of her knees along with a pair of torn jeans. Like very, very torn jeans. Karen’s thick muscular arms were on full display thanks to her simple, almost leather looking and sleeveless west. Lucy leaned in for a more private conversation, “Listen, do you have any idea what time it is? I don’t know what’s eating you and I never will unless you actually start talking to me.”

“So, what if it's only one o'clock in the afternoon?” Karen’s breath had that sharp alcoholic smell to it that came out in waves as she spoke. “Look, I can't help it, I like to party, it's genetic, maybe? It's electrifying to wind myself up and watch me go. Where I stop nobody knows. Exciting, isn’t it?”

“Listen, pay your drink and- we’re getting out of here,” Lucy pulled on Karen’s arm to stress her point.

“No, I don’t wanna!” Karen actually pouted like two decades had been shaved clean off her age. “Look, if you wanna- like drag me out of here, you best call SWAT, alright? Oh shit, I need to take a piss.”

Karen wobbled away to the bathroom, leaving Lucy alone with the bartender. “Is she always like this?”

“Nope, Karen has always been a fun and flirty drunk. Never any problems and she know when to stop drinking. If anything, she’s usually the one that tells the mean drunks to fuck off.”

When Karen came back from the bathroom, Lucy’s hadn’t moved an inch. Her foot tapped impatiently on the floor as she crossed her arms with a huff. A couple of slurred thanks and some glasses of water later, Karen turned her attention to the college kids that were finishing up the soundcheck. 

“Karen, listen to me. If you can’t get your act together for whatever reason, at the very least tell me the reason.” 

“Why? Everything’s  fiiine . Y’know, you need- pardon me. You need to learn to have some fun. Don’t be so stiff and rigid. Leave that to the guys,” Karen said while she drank heavily from a beer mug of ice water. 

The resolve that had held Lucy’s shoulders up and straight to this pointed melted away. All that remained for her was to stand on the sidelines and watch as Karen wasted her time on happy leisure rather than tackling whatever problems she was wrestling with. As for the boys that Karen kept mirin at like she was looking for a high school prom date, Lucy caught one of their names, Ryan. If Lucy were to guess, Karen was initially drawn to, in the form of a girlish giggle, because he wore sunglasses inside a dimly lit club. Further study showed that he severely underweight and his hands looked like they had tremors akin to a man sixty years his senior. He did score points for clothing though, which were both expensive-looking and fashionable. However, closer inspection showed that they hung off him like a scarecrow’s rags.

“Nah, I’m not that drunk,” Karen said to herself. Her eyes then landed on the bassist who excused himself to the bathroom. A slightly perverted smile crossed her face, “Look at that butt...”

“Okay… listen, as long as I don’t hear anything about a man waking up with a broken pelvis, you can have your fun.”

* * *

Karen woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling and the smell of farts intertwined with sweat, sex and scented candles. Even just a look over to her side, never mind actually lifting her head, caused her brain to slush around inside her skull. A man slept heavily by her side, deeply tanned skin with just the right  number of tattoos on his shoulder. Probably a surfer judging by the décor and his finely sculpted arms and shoulders. A half-empty glass of water and a crudely open box of condoms rested by the alarm clock. 

“Real classy Kara, real classy.”

With her surfing lover still sound asleep, Karen creeped out of bed quietly as a cat and collected her clothes. Just how her panties had ended up behind the TV bench was anyone’s guess and while moving it slightly wasn’t a problem, there was a real risk that it might wake Mr. Lover-Lover. Thankfully nothing came of it and the complete absence of awkwardly running into parents, siblings or roommates was very much welcome. Slushy brains or not, Karen figured that a walk and some fresh air would do her some good. Not that she planned to walk the whole way, but at least long enough so she’d avoid puking all over the backseat of a cab.

Neighbors were staring at her as she made her way in the general direction of the beach. If their looks were anything to go by, she wasn’t a common sight around these parts, or something was very wrong with her and she didn’t know it yet. “Did I put my pants on inside out? No? Okay.” Karen put on a big smile and waved since by now she just didn't care. “They're probably jealous of my sexy hair and the boots in my hand.”

Rounding a corner, she realized that she was right on Aguja St. and the home sweet home wasn’t all that far away. Just a short walk to the beach and a quick phone call for easy pickup. She might even wait for the sunrise to finish before she makes the call. After all, there was no rush and the calm that these early hours of the day had was most welcome. A small dent in her otherwise brilliant plan showed itself when she ran into Vernon. By the looks of it, he was out on an early morning jog, Rocky-style.

“Karen, good morning,” he said with a big smile on his face, drops of sweat sparkled on his forehead.

“Hey Vernon, how’s- how’s it going?”

“Fantastic,” he kept on jogging on the spot, panting lightly, “you?”

She was about to answer when a pair of birds settled on a rooftop and started to chat with one another, “Oh, my brain, those little birdies sound like airplanes. How could something so cute cause me so much pain?”

“Long night, huh?”

“Look, please don't judge, it was mad late and I had a lot to drink. But I made it out, safe and sound.”

Vernon couldn’t stop smiling for some reason, “Not at all, not at all. Join me for a jog?”

“Eh… I might be walking, but it's only  'cause I feel like shit. Don't even try to act like you haven’t done the same yourself. If you're gonna do the walk, do it like a boss...”

Without warning, Karen’s stomach groaned like a starved animal. It was loud enough to make Vernon stop jogging and the two of them just looked at each other for a long, awkward moment. Vernon did put in some serious effort to keep a straight face, but finally, he cracked and let out a loud, roaring and rich laughter, “How about I fix you something to eat? My place is nearby.”

“Look I’m- alright, fine. What’s on the-”

“Karen, watch out!” he pointed on the ground just as she took a step forward. 

She felt something poke at her foot, some sort of pointed edge. Curious she gently lifted her foot and as soon as she did, Vernon dived down and examined it carefully, almost throwing her off balance, “There was a shard of glass and- odd. You’re fine, but I could have sworn that you stepped right on the edge.”

“Yeah- uh, about that…” she wiggled around, trying to maintain her balance through her still slushy moving brain certainly wasn’t helping. “Uh, guess I got lucky? Look, just leave it alone Vernon. This balancing act is making my head spin.”

Vernon’s place was small and nice, even if it leaned a little too heavy on the whole-body building and fitness lifestyle for Karen’s taste. You had your mandatory Schwarzenegger-in-his-prime posters, workout schedule, and nutrient table instead of family photos and of course a neat little collection of shakers on the coffee table. The absence of fitness magazines was actually a plus at this point, though it didn’t way up for a complete absence of a feminine touch to the place. At least snoring surfer boy had family and friends along with neat little plants that complemented his lifestyle. With Vernon though, the lifestyle was it.

“I’ll admit that I’m impressed with just how dedicated you are,” she said before she found herself a seat. 

Vernon fumbled around on the kitchen, collecting the dirty dishes before diving into the fridge, “Huh? Oh yeah, well… you know how it is. Can’t really ever let up.”

“How long have you been competing? As a bodybuilder I mean?”

He paused, a pair of eggs in each hand before he said, “Three years? Yeah, this is my third year.” 

Karen nodded while she looked around, “Neat. Have you won anything? I don’t see any trophies.”

“Ah, those idiot judges are blind and deaf at the same time if you ask me,” the gas stove came on before he started measuring some brown rice.

“Or maybe the competition is really tough.”

“No,” Vernon shook his head, “I don’t think so. There are some that might be on my level, but those aren’t many.”

“So… what’s on the menu chef? I’m starving.”

Vernon found a knife and a cutting board, carefully cutting bell peppers, “Breakfast for champions my dear. Peppers with “Fit Grits,” Egg Whites and Pico de Gallo, an old favorite of mine.”

“That sounds… interesting,” Karen raised her eyebrows with interest as if she was trying to guess the taste.

The two of them had breakfast and made small talk. While they’d talked before during training sessions, that was always a secondary priority to the training itself. Your mind was on making that one more push or how your lungs were on fire rather than the fine art of conversation. Now they could talk more freely, without having a barbell or strained grunting come between their words. It was pleasant to talk, exchanging tips and experiences from their lifestyle like a pair of likeminded people. 

Karen admitted that she had never been into it for competition, she was just restless from sitting around crunching code and hunting down that ever-elusive typo that messed up her algorithm. Turns out she had a real knack for lifting weights and with the weight lifting came the hunger, thus she eased down on the snacks and soda in favor of a more proper diet. And then the muscles came. Muscles everywhere. Eventually, their little talk shifted to the subject of injuries and precautions one ought to take.

“And that… that man came back a month later, to the gym, on crutches and apologized.”

Karen slapped her hand on the kitchen counter, “Good on our boy Greg.”

“Hear, hear!” they shared a toast. “Which reminds me…”

“What?”

“You,” he lightly bobbed her nose, “ought to see a doctor.”

Karen scoffed at him before hiding behind her glass, “Why? There’s no magic pill against hangovers.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, “No, not that. Your foot.”

“Look. It's fine Vernon, let it go.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know since you won’t let me examine you. So, I hope you take to your senses and see a professional instead.”

She pointed a finger at him, a clever smile on her face, “If I go to the doctor, will you take a shower? Because you’re starting to stink son.”

“Ah no, my frail ego,” Vernon rested the back of his hand on his forehead, leaning backward in an overdramatic fashion. “Care to join me?”

Karen laughed before quickly clapping over her mouth, “Maybe some other time Romeo. Thanks for the breakfast though, you’re a lifesaver,” she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before collecting her things.

* * *

Back on her yacht, Power Girl had suited up for the first time in days and was quietly hovering around inside her bedroom. It was something she’d noticed when she first got on board. Normally her flight was triggered by a slight jump or standing on her toes, but for the last few days that had just left her standing around like a fool. So, when she literary didn’t land after skipping a step on the stairway, Power Girl knew she was back in business. The hangover was still a concern though, but Power Girl was determined to literary sweat it out. Now a good session on the treadmill later, with the overall grogginess gone and her brain all done slushing about, it was time to get back into it.

“Ma’am? I know you’ve been absent for a while and feel an obligation to play catch up but is it really a good idea to dive straight in like this?” although Sonia’s composure was calm and her tone clear, there were a few ever so subtle hints of concern in her voice and eyes.

Power Girl threw a few jabs into the air, like a boxer warming up for a fight, “What are you suggesting captain?”

“I’m not sure. A trial run of sorts? Perhaps special agent Kuo can arrange for some sort of- I don’t know, controlled test environment?” 

She looked at the captain for a moment before she busted out a rich and merry laugh accompanied with a few tears. “Where- oh my- look, where would that be? Fort Zancudo? Forget that. Military folks generally give me the creeps, though I do love a man in uniform. Besides, I don’t intend to run solo this time. I’ll head over to the 13 th precinct and talk to- what’s her name again? Detective something-something. If it makes you feel better captain, I’ll be a good little girl and team up with an actual police officer this time.”

Sonia followed her down the hallway and out on the sun deck, “And probably ignore any and all instructions given to you?”

Power Girl spread her arms out helplessly, “I can change.”

“Please don’t do the South Park Saddam Hussein voice ma’am, it’s beneath you.”

With a shrug and smile, Power Girl took to the skies high over Los Santos. The unprecedented freedom of flight, wind tucking at her cape and ruffling through her hair, complete with the cityscape below and cotton shaped clouds above was enough for Power Girl to go for a quick joyride. She went up high and down low, zigzagging between buildings and even stopping on a dime for a red light simply because she could. The smug look on her face wouldn’t go away, even if she overheard some less than favorable comments from onlookers on the streets. As soon as the light turned green, she took off. Next stop, 13 th precinct. 

The doors to the station lobby opened wide, Power Girl entered like a rock star making a special comeback tour. Only to be greeted with crickets, which was quite a feat considering she was in Mission Row, Downtown Los Santos. From behind the lobby counter, a couple of police officers paused and gave her a curious look before resuming their business. A shift changes by the looks of it. As one of the officers left for the day, he gave a sideways glance as he passed Power Girl, only to shake his head.

“Afternoon uh… what-what can I help you with?” the elderly officer beckoned her over to the counter while he found his seat. 

As Power Girl approached the counter, she noticed that the officer was someone who was clearly too out of shape for field police work. His grey hair and glasses suggested years of service, yet his portly, bordering on obese frame confirmed that somewhere along the line, he let it slip. If there ever was a textbook example of an over-the-hill cop counting the days to retirement, this man would be it. Not that he seemed to mind though, he looked as happy as a grandpa who got visited by relatives. “Yeah, hi,” Power Girl cleared her throat, “I’m here to speak to a detective.”

The officer smiled a warm smile and shrugged, “You’ve got to give me more to work with than that I’m afraid. Got a name or an appointment?”

“No, I can’t say I have,” she scratched the back of her head, “but special agent Lucy Kuo spoke to her a few- last week maybe?”

“Ah-hah, now we’re getting somewhere,” he licked his fingers and flipped through some papers. “Lucy, Lucy, Lucy… from the FBI, right? She talked with Det. Pauline Reed, could that be your lady?”

“The name does ring a  bell, I’ll give you that.”

He gave her a thumb up as if the two of them had achieved something together as a team, “I can’t say I’ve seen her today, but I just got here. If she’s not in her office, you could just wait here and I’ll see if I can reach her for you.”

“Thanks, uh… I didn’t catch your name?”

He politely bowed his head as he said, “Sgt. Arthur Delgado, night shift desk sergeant, at your service. But you can call me Art.”

“Power Girl, a pleasure,” she was about to go, but stopped halfway and said, “Are you guys always so informal around here?”

“We don’t have to stand on ceremony for one another all the time. Besides, you’re one of us, right?”

She nodded and smiled in agreement before giving a small peek inside Det. Pauline’s office. No one was there and Art didn’t miss a beat. While Power Girl found herself a seat, he started making some calls. Her ears started to wander, a subtle and discreet way for her to get a feel for the place. She’d only been here a few times, a quick PR stunt jumpstarting her collaboration with the police and a couple of more formal meetings that she really didn’t remember much from. Faint and indistinguishable sounds floated upwards to form words and sentences too weak for human hearing.

“-so no, I don’t think she’ll show for the night shift either. That thing comes and goes as it pleases, unlike us humans,” a woman said.

Someone, an African American by the sound of it, laughed and clapped their hands, “I still have $5 on that she got taken out ‘cause of that bank job thing she did. Lil’ Ms. F. B. fuckin’ I looked like she was about to shit her pants.”

“Shut up Stew, there’s no way they’d put her down for something like that,” another man said.

Stew was quick with a comeback, “Well, of course. As a white man, you would think that, wouldn’t you Wade?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You wanna go  boi ?” a chair tipped over it made a hollow thumb against the carpet; Power Girl could almost hear Wade puff out his chest like bullies so often did. 

“Don’t you  _ boi _ me Stew. Just  sayin ’ it as it is; you white folks stick up for her with her death rays and fuckin’- I dunno. ‘Course that’s ‘cause she’s white. Had that been a black lady  pullin ’ that shit, you’d all be  paintin ’ the carpet brown with your fear-induced diarrhea,” Stew sounded quite smug and confident with his rationale.

The woman spoke up next, “Sorry to burst your bubble Stew, but two out of three of those perps were white. If anything, it looks like she’s doesn’t give two shits about race.”

A third man chimed in, “Plus she did tell that Asian clerk off at the gas station. Dude even had piss stains on his pants. Right, Alex?”

“Neil… Don’t drag me into this mess,” Alex’s indifferent tone suggested that she’d seen similar arguments before and would have none of it.

“Fuck, such a waste though,” the woman said, “can you imagine what we’d be able to do if we had only a fraction of her powers? I mean, kudos for stepping up and fighting the good fight, but damn son. She's playing a cop, not actually being one and instead of collecting souls, we’re forced to run around and- and smile, nod and eat asses to make up for her fucking mess.”

“Sure, you’re not turning a feather into ten chickens now Lucy?” Alex said.

“Hell no! How many perps does she have under her belt, huh? How many arrests? None. Zero. Zip. Nada. For Christ’s sake Alex, we had to let people, really bad people, go because that circus freak show keeps fucking up,” Lucy’s words dripped with resentment. 

Power Girl got up from her seat and walked towards the front door. Her teeth found her lower lip, Art’s attempts to call her back sounded like they were a million lightyears away. She didn’t stop, she didn’t hesitate, and she didn’t even look back. Power Girl just walked out the door and flew away.


	6. Doctor’s Orders

Power Girl sat on the edge of a tall building, her face uncertain and eyes distant. A sigh escaped her before she hugged her knees close and buried her face in them, “Come on Kara, this isn’t like you.”

She sniffed and looked up as she wiped a tear away. While Power Girl looked on a couple of clouds lazily drifting along with the wind, she let the hustle and bustle of the city below sink in. Car horns barked at one another like dogs edging one another to a fight, the scent of extra spicy taco meat tickled her nose before a gust of wind whisked it away, tossing her hair about in the process. The concrete ledge she sat on started to feel cold and uninviting with its angular edges and flat edges. Her eyes landed on a couple who were bickering out on the street. Fingers gently swiped strands of hair out of her view, tucking it behind her ear. The man hailed a cab from the street and managed to pull free from his supposed girlfriend. Even without super hearing, it was clear that the woman was crying her heart out.

“I guess I could check by Lucy at the-” Power Girl paused as she was about to get up and fly away. She strained her ears, filtered through the loudest and most obvious noises of the city until she could verify it. A kitten splashing in the water.

There were no ponds that she could see in the general direction of the sound. The kitten’s struggle seemed to  fade, its cries grew weaker. Just as Power Girl was about to dismiss it and go about her business, she spotted a drainage in the corner of her eye. Something clicked inside of her and she dived down in almost free fall, her sudden and unexpected landing made pedestrians nearly jump out of their skin. She leaned down, squinted her eyes into the dark drainage. The splashing and meowing were much clearer now, the kitten had somehow fallen down here and couldn’t get out.

“Come on little guy, take my hand,” she reached into the drainage and tried to fish out the kitten. “There better not be any clowns down there.”

Her fingers touched the cold water, piercing through something that felt like a soaked newspaper page. Faintly she could feel ripples in the water coming from the trashing kitten. Every now and then Power Girl thought she had it, only to either have it slip from her grasp at the last second or fish up some random trash. With each failed attempt, she let out a grumble of irritation before diving back into it. The small crowd of spectators that had gathered around her was not given an inch of her attention. All that mattered right now was to get that kitten out of there, preferably alive. One last meow was heard and then the splashes stopped. 

“No… no, no, no. Don’t do this to me. Don’t quit on me little guy,” her hand darted around inside the drainage, fingers spread out wide as they tried to lash on to something, anything.

Something gently brushed against the back of her finger. It could be a tail, leg or perhaps even a toy. Whatever it was, she was going to get it out of there. Power Girl pressed in deeper, the top of the drainage cracked under the pressure from her shoulder and the crowd took half a step back. Finally, she managed to fold her fingers around something that at the very least felt very promising. Quickly, yet also carefully she pulled out her arm and found the sorry mess of a soaked kitten in her hand. A fleeting moment of relief and a round of cheers from the crowd sank down like a rock when Power Girl realized that the kitten was n’t breathing.

Without a second thought, she pulled off her cape and wrapped the kitten inside it. Power Girl hugged the kitten close, like a mother comforting her infant child. Her mind went blank and hands started to shake. She had to do something obviously, but aside from trying to stop her fingers from trembling, there weren’t that many bright ideas volunteering. Hesitantly her thumbs found the little  fellow’s chest and she started to gently massage it. Every now and then she put the kitten’s face close to her ear, checking for breathing. Almost in the spur of the moment, Power Girl pulled its mouth close to hers and gave it a gentle breath. 

Just how long she sat there on the sidewalk, working the kitten’s tiny chest and giving it mouth to mouth, Power Girl couldn’t tell. From the moment she first stuck her hand into the water she’d lost track of time. Suddenly the kitten jerked around in her hands, coughing a few times before falling silent again. With renewed resolve, she kept at it, getting into a steady rhythm. Another small eternity slithered by at half the pace of snails before the kitten woke up. It trembled and shook, whether it was because it was wet, cold or just shocked was hard to tell. The crowd around Power Girl gave out loud cheers and a round of applause. 

Power Girl smiled and snuggled tenderly with the kitten as she rose to the skies, “Come on little guy, let’s get you washed up,”

A short flight later and Power Girl tended to the kitten in her bedroom. An old shoebox along with some towels made for an improvised bed, while some fish from the kitchen along with a bowl of water was put next to it. “We should probably have the vet take a look at that eye of yours, huh?”

The kitten was missing its right eye and had a very unflattering smell about it. While the other crew members on the yacht didn’t complain too much, Power Girl still insisted that it should get a solid scrub down as soon as its health allowed it. One visit to the vet and a long bath later, the smell remained. Sonia tried to take the diplomatic route and suggest that it was either a placebo effect or because Power Girl simply had a heightened sense of smell compared to humans. At least the bath brought out the kitten’s lovely looking blonde fur and it stuck close to Power Girl at every chance it got.

“So, the vet wanted to know your name, huh?” Power Girl held the kitten up in her hands. “Well, okay. What’s your name, little guy? You are a guy, right? How about Stinky? Hunter? Sandman?  Dozey ?  Napinator ?  Immaculo ?  Meticulo ? Orange tornado?  Filtho ? Streaky? Fluffy? Fuzzball? Poser?”

It just meowed at her, “Yeah, look I know. It isn’t easy figuring out who you are or who you’re supposed to be in this crazy world. But that smell isn’t going away, so Stinky it is. Glad you made it through. That nice vet really tidied you up, now didn’t he?”

She put Stinky down on the floor, “Doctor huh?”

* * *

Dr. Pieter Anton Cross’s clinic was not all that different from any other doctor’s clinic. Stylish, yet simple and modern reception desk, a few pot plants scattered about and neat looking all glass table for magazines. The biggest eye-catcher was the large, abstract painting hanging just behind the reception, over the file cabinets. Large smears of red and black paint formed whatever image the viewer wanted to see. The white-greyish walls could easily have come across as sterile, cold and uninviting had it not been for the warm brown wooden floor. 

“Alright, uh… Starr, Karen?” Pieter said once he had seen off his previous patient.

The rather tall, blonde woman who sat by the glass table, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine looked up and said, “That’d be me.”

“Good, right this way please.”

She followed him into his office and closed the door quietly behind her. It was a simple room with deeper, warmer colors than the reception, primarily on the floor and furniture. Rather than a simple coat of paint, these walls featured both wallpaper and some old school black and white pictures of old men with impressive Santa Clause like beards. Pieter took a seat behind his desk, the wine-red leather in his chair creaked at even the slightest movement while he extended his hand, offering Ms. Starr a seat across his desk.

“Alright, what,” he moved some papers away and found a pen, “brings you here today, Ms. Starr? First time here I see.”

Ms. Starr seemed more interested in reading the books on his shelf and the diploma on the wall behind him than answering the question. Pieter ran his hand over his mouth a few times and just as he was about to speak up again, Ms. Starr looked at him and said, “I figured it was time that I did a more thorough check-up.”

“Alright, not a bad idea to do a check-up every now and then,” he said while his pen took some notes. “Anything… in particular, that happened recently or…? Injury while training perhaps?”

“You’ve got good eyes doctor,” Ms. Starr smiled and crossed her legs.

He hesitated for a moment, squinting his blue eyes at her, “Have- have we met? You look very familiar, but I can’t quite place-”

Ms. Starr raised an intrigued eyebrow, “Very good eyes. Usually, the contact lenses, some generous make-up, and different clothes are enough to throw people off balance. Then again, I suppose you had time to study me closer than most when I slept on your couch.”

The pen dropped from his hand, jaw slacked down a good inch before he mustered out the words, “Oh my God, you’re her, aren’t you?”

Ms. Starr nodded and smiled, “Power Girl, or Kara Zor-L if you prefer my actual name rather than the nickname the media picked for me.”

“Kara… I like it, has a nice ring to it,” Pieter leaned forward on his desk, adjusting in his seat and collecting his composure. “You’ve decided to come for a check-up, which is great. By all means, I’m glad to see you took my advice. But why me? Surely there’s- there are government agencies and personnel that-”

“No doctor, there isn’t. Much to their frustration, I haven’t agreed to a full medical examination.”

Pieter picked up the pen again, “Okay, but again. Why me?”

“If memory serves me, I was out cold for a few hours. You could have called the press for a quick buck, called the cops, called some buddies over, left me out there in the rain or a hundred different other things,” she slapped the armrest on her chair. “But you didn’t. Instead, you took me in and well, gave me the best care you could at the top of your head.”

He shrugged, the end of his pen tapping against the paper, “It's one of the first things they teach you in medical school. First, do no harm. So, where do we start?”

“The basics and then we take it from there.”

“Alright, follow me.”

With Pieter in the lead, the two of them left the chocolate warm office and into the cooler, more hospital-like examination room. The familiar hospital light green color dominated the floor and most of the furniture. It had even crept its way partially up the walls. Pieter pointed her to the examination bed and found a stethoscope. “Alright, unbutton your shirt, please. I’m- I’m going to assume organs such as heart and lungs are roughly in the same place as on humans, but you’ll have to excuse me if I fumble around a bit.”

“That’s alright doctor,” Ms. Starr worked down the buttons on her shirt, “we’re both adults here.”

The stethoscope touched her skin on her back and Pieter listen for a moment. He shifted around to several locations, tilting his head every now and then, “Take a deep breath for me, please. Hold it. Now release. Good. One more please.”

He circled around and listened on her front chest, again the stethoscope shifted around to several spots. At one point he alternated between the left and right side of Ms. Starr’s chest and his eyes went wide with amazement. “If- if I didn’t know any better it sounds like you have two hearts, Ms. Starr. Quite amazing. Possibly even a third, smaller lung, but it’s too early to tell. Okay, this heart thing is really, really exciting. Let me measure your blood pressure  real quick.”

A small myriad of tests later, Pieter’ pen danced over his notepad. Every now and then he paused, the back of his thumb scratched his short, black hair as if looking for the proper term to describe something otherworldly. “Alright, so to sum up; six feet and two inches tall, one hundred and eighty-one pounds. Sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing well above human standards, even with the color contact lenses on. Thirty-four chest, twenty-four waist, and thirty-four hips. X-rays, we’ll have to wait for those and five broken needles later, no blood sample.”

Pieter rubbed his chin while he looked over his notes one more time, occasionally his pen would make a quick correction here and there. When he finally looked up at Ms. Starr, his eyes shined with a genuine marvel and interest. More than once he gently shook his head, as if he still had problems wrapping his head around his own scientific findings. As he paced around in the room, he carried himself like a man humbled, yet not dishearten by exploring something fundamentally new to the science he’d dedicated so many years to study.

“I’m curious,” he said, the back of his pen tapped against his teeth, “just how is your day to day life with that immense strength of yours?”

Ms. Starr frowned and tilted slightly to the side, “I don’t follow you, doctor.”

“Alright, I’ll admit that I haven’t followed your… exploits all that closely. But I’m under the impression that you do these feats of immense strength with great ease. So that got me thinking if your strength is always on, do you like… send coffee cups flying to the upper atmosphere unless you’re mindful of your strength?”

A rich, merry laugh rolled out over the room before Ms. Starr caught herself and tried her best to contain her laughter, “Look, doctor. It’s not like that. First of all, I don’t drink coffee. Secondly, there’s this… I’m not sure,  _ gearshift _ ?”

Pieter nodded, his hand fumbled around his back trying to locate his stool while he gave Ms. Starr his full attention, “Alright, could you elaborate that for me please?”

“It’s almost like- Look, when I work out, for the most part, it’s hard work. Weights are heavy, my joints hurt and everything is one big uphill battle. But it comes to a point where all that simply goes  away and- suddenly those weights that felt heavier than the sun and the moon combined, are light like a glass of water.”

“Okay, okay. I think I understand what you’re saying,” he clicked his pen a few times. “So, when does this, for the lack of a better term,  _ gearshift _ happen? I mean, how much can you lift before it kicks in?”

She started counting off on her fingers, “Eight hundred pounds on squat, four hundred and eighty pounds if I do bench and six hundred pounds on the deadlift.”

Pieter stopped taking notes and looked up at her, “You sure? That’s… that’s a lot. At least for a human woman.”

“It varies, to be honest with you doctor,” Ms. Starr shrugged. “Endurance and stamina are different from raw weight. Even with lower weights, the gearshift still happens after enough reps.”

* * *

“Look, this is ridiculous,” Ms. Starr said over her shoulder as she and Pieter entered the gun shop.

Pieter tailed behind her while his hands juggled a first aid kit, tucking away the car keys and holding the shop door open at the same time, “Please, Ms. Starr, we need this data. Who knows? It could prove invaluable at a-” he looked up and realized he’d arrived at the counter. “Hi- hi there.”

“What will it be stranger?” the clerk said, his big lumberjack-like beard fluffed around as he spoke.

“Ah yes, we- uh… Ms. Starr, if you’d be so kind?”

She rolled her eyes and found her wallet in her purse, “We’d like to use your fire range and test some weapons. Could we have some pistols and revolvers, please? We might come back for a second round of rifles and shotguns later.”

“Enthusiasts, eh? You’re my kinda gal lady,” it was hard to tell if the clerk was smiling behind that thick beard, but his eyes were friendly enough. “It’s twenty bucks for the first hour, nine for the following half hour. And uh… yeah, eleven bucks for the second shooter. So, what guns you folks wanna try out?”

“Uh, small caliber please, nothing big” Pieter injected. “It’s been a while, so…”

The clerk gave an understanding nod to Pieter, “I got you, buddy, now  lemme see here.”

He turned around and looked up at the wall behind him where a collection of rifles, shotguns and assault rifles hung before catching himself. From behind the counter, he found a medium sized bag and started picking out various pistols and revolvers from drawers in the counter. Pieter looked around in the gun shop, finally taking in the sights. The glass counter was well lit with pale lights, just about every pistol and revolver one could imagine was on display. Aside from weapons the shop also sold clothing most associated with hunting, such as camouflage jackets. In the center of the room was a stand that had different pro-gun coffee mugs, t-shirts and other trinkets for sale.

“Isn’t this against that famous first rule they taught you at med school?” Ms. Starr whispered, there was an angry hiss to her tone.

“Yes, yes. But you are out there, fighting crime and while this is dangerous…” he whispered back, giving a quick glance to make sure the clerk was not paying them any attention, “I feel it is more  dangerous for you to blindly rely on something that you do not fully understand. Know your limits Ms. Starr and learn to work with them.”

“Sure, it’s not because you don’t want those sweet blood samples so  badly you’d shoot me for them?”

“What?! No!”

The clerk zipped closed the bag on the counter, “Okay folks, if you just come with me and we’ll get you two set up. Right this way.”

Pieter got a quick rundown of the rules of the shooting range and a demonstration of proper gun safety. While it took some persuasion and more than a fistful of dollars, Ms. Starr managed to get the range safety officer off their backs, leaving them alone at the fire range, “Look, this would have been easier and cheaper if you’d own a gun yourself, doctor,” Ms. Starr said while she checked that the door to the firing range was actually locked.

“Alright, might I remind you that I suggested we’d go to the police or even the FBI for this experiment? And that you were the one that said no?”

Ms. Starr removed her jacket and flew over the counter, “Because I trust you more than them. Stupid cops don’t like me anyway…”

“Ah, your safety goggles and ear muffs.”

“Stars above, what are you? My dad?”

“Although it’s starting to feel like it, no. Currently, I’m your doctor and I insist you wear proper protection. Who knows what these things will do to your hearing? You know? The one that is many times more sensitive than mine?”

“Fine, just shoot me already.”

He looked at her where she stood a couple of feet down range, arms crossed and refusing to look him in the eye, “That sentence is wrong on so many levels. Alright, here goes.”

Two dozen rounds later, Ms. Starr was still standing, despite a few straight misses. Her shirt was punctured, but her skin was only slightly red, like from a solid spanking, in the spots where the bullets had hit. She did respond to the bullets though, limbs jerked around and harsh words poured out of her mouth. If Pieter were to compare with a human, he’d say that Ms. Starr’s response to smaller firearms was similar to a human getting shot by a paintball gun. Her suit was of a thicker and sturdier fabric than her shirt so that might take some of the edges off, but it still left her arms, head, and parts of her chest exposed.

Their experiment continued and while the guns didn’t draw blood, they did leave bruises on Ms. Starr’s skin if the range was short enough or the caliber was high enough. Shotguns generally had sufficient punch to stagger and even throw her off balance if she was caught unaware, though Pieter never got a chance to confirm it as Ms. Starr didn’t take kindly to surprises. Again, they didn’t draw blood, though they all left fist-sized, dark bruises on her skin that hurt for much longer than any pistol or revolver shot. When it came to the rifles, Pieter said, “I think that’s enough for one day.”

“Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“You’re limping for one and you seem to be leaning more to your left after that surprise  shot I gave you. I fear there’s a real risk a rifle will hurt you badly,” he said as he inspected the rifle to make sure it wasn’t loaded.

“Bullshit,” she winced and grabbed her side, “Okay, yeah I’ll admit you got me good with that one shot, but I can still take a few rounds with that pathetic stick you’ve got in your hand.”

“Maybe some other time, Ms. Starr. Come here, let’s get some ice on that bruise.”

* * *

“Hey, you still with me over there? How do you feel?” Pieter’ rental car stopped at a red light.

Ms. Starr groaned in her seat, “Like I’ve been shot…”

The steady rhythm of the turn signal ticked away while the two of them waited for the red light to change. Pedestrians crossed the street, not really looking where they were going and a trash truck honked at a stalled car. A relative calm seemed to sink down and into the city as the evening rolled in, thin streaks of clouds painted with brilliant orange light. High overhead an airplane’s engines rumbled, heading for distant lands, leaving behind only a single white line in its wake. Ms. Starr reached down to the side of her  seat, the back jerked back a few steps before she rested comfortably.

“Alright, at least your sense of humor remains intact,” Pieter said.

Ms. Starr scoffed, “Waste of time. We didn’t learn anything that I didn’t already know.”

Pieter turned and looked down at her, an odd mix of anger and disappointment showed on his face, “What are you talking about? You told me you were bulletproof, but it turns out you’re not.”

“Hey, look at me; dead girl talking.”

“Alright, listen. Bulletproof and bullet resilient are two very different things, Ms. Starr,” his foot pressed gently down on the gas and the car rolled forward. “Now, I’d say that your other abilities have similar limitations. You just don’t know them because you’ve never pushed-”

“Oh, I’ve pushed doc. And guess what?” she raised her head, a smug smile on her face. “Everything breaks.”

“Well, the rules of laws of thermodynamics happen to disagree with you Ms. Starr,” Pieter's voice rose in volume before he caught himself. “Your powers must be  fueled by something and it’s not just the food you eat. There has to be another, more powerful source.”

Ms. Starr raised her hand in objection, “I’ll have you know that my breakfasts consist of eighty percent plutonium.”

He took his eyes off the road for a moment and looked at her with a baffled expression. When she started giggling like a child caught pranking her parent, he just shook his head and concentrated on driving. They arrived back at the clinic, Ms. Starr still limped from the shooting range and clutched a bag of ice like it was a precious stuffed toy. When Pieter offered her his arm for support, she brushed him aside and continued to limp towards the door. The receptionist and other staff had left for the day, so it was only the two of them.

“You said that you have no control over your protective… err… aura,” Pieter walked from one light switch to the next back towards the examination room.

Ms. Starr snorted out a laugh, “Aura?”

“Alright, it sounds silly, I’ll admit. But for the lack of a better term, let’s just call it that,” he rested against the counter and stroke his chin, deep in thought. “By the looks of it, it seems like this aura behaves like a, a non-Newtonian fluid, though not quite since it still shielded you from the needles earlier.”

“Sometimes I wish there was a way to easily turn it off,” Ms. Starr tossed the half-melted ice bag into the sink, “I mean, ironically I have to be careful not to ‘hurt’ myself in front of others, as then I’d have some serious explaining to do.”

“Hmm… I never quite got that part, why the smoke and mirrors? Why the double life?”

She shrugged, “When I got  here, I was scared and alone, a stranger on a strange planet. Didn’t speak a lick of English, couldn’t tell my left from my right. What little I did know was scrambled around inside my head. Hiding in plain sight was a sound plan then. Still is today. You guys aren’t very fond of the alien. The unknown. Especially when it can do things you have a hard time wrapping your head around, like defying gravity at will or fire death beams from the eye sockets.”

“Death beams… what are those?”

Ms. Starr gave him a long and skeptical look, “You haven’t heard on the news?”

He took a moment before he shook his head, spreading his hands out helplessly. She started to walk around in the room, the sound of her heels click-clacking against the floor lingered behind her words, “Look, I can- I not sure how to best describe it… project these beams of intense- heat, I guess? From my eyes. I used it when stopping some robbers from getting away and… depending on who you ask, I might have gone overboard.”

“Beams? Like lasers?”

“No, well- maybe? They’re not visible unless I really throttle up. Then it’s all thick, pulsating beams of heat and destruction. Kinda hard to miss with their bright orange colors and their impeccable ability to melt just about anything.”

“Hmm,” Pieter picked up a piece of paper and held it over the sink, “could you demonstrate it on this paper?”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?” there was something in Pieter tone that sounded like a kid who just got denied a treat.

“Because I’m wearing contact lenses that I don’t want to melt?”

He tossed the paper aside, “Ah right, of course. Though if they’re not lasers and you can control their temperature, these beams might actually be infrared light. With sufficiently high enough temperatures, the air turns into plasma. Still, that’s a lot of energy that needs to come from somewhere.”

“Look, I’m sure this is all very interesting, but I’m going to go home now if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, of course. Please get plenty of rest and let me know if there are any issues with your recovery,” Pieter said as he started following her to the door.

“I’ll be fine,” she dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “A day or two in the sun and I’ll be as good as new.”

Pieter stopped and pulled on her arm, “That’s it! The sun. That’s the energy source for your powers. It has to be.”

Despite Ms. Starr’s rather vocal protests, he managed to get her to stay just a little while longer. They sat down in his office and started collecting numbers, “Alright, so if I’m correct, your skin is essentially like solar panels, though rather than just getting a tan, you get much more out of the sun. Now, I’d estimate that you have roughly somewhere between sixteen and twenty square feet surface area. So, the sun has an energy output of… Uhm. Do you know by any chance?”

She glanced at him sideways, looking slightly annoyed by the question before she started typing away on his computer, “Between fourteen and thirteen hundred Watts per… uh, square foot, or something like that.”

“Alright, let’s keep it simple and say fourteen hundred, times two and that gives us twenty-eight hundred watts per second.  Soooooo … after one minute, your beam output should be in the one hundred and sixty-eight kilojoules. That’s- that’s a lot. After an hour, let’s see here. Your beam output packs about as ten times as much energy as a car going down the highway.”

Ms. Starr rubbed her face with both hands and groaned before she said, “Where are we going with this doctor?”

“My theory Ms. Starr,” Pieter said as he jotted down the numbers on a piece of paper, “is that all of your powers share the same energy source and if you spend more energy than your recharge rate, you’ll eventually run dry and presumably be as strong and durable as a human for your size and build. Now, you mentioned beams, visible beams, which suggests plasma, okay?”

“Right, so if we apply,” Ms. Starr snatched his pen and started plotting out a formula, “the recharge rate with plasma, we get… eh, about five or six days. That’s about as much energy as, uh, a bolt of lightning. That checks out.”

Pieter blinked at the numbers, this type of math wasn’t really his strongest suit, “Alright, how so?”

“Remember when you first found me? I got struck by lightning, so what if that… impact,” she punched her fist softly into her palm, “canceled out all my energy reserves? So, I couldn’t fly or do anything. I even got a haircut. And, and I spent about a week to get back on my feet. The first few days were miserable.”

“So, that means that your sun radiation storage capacity seems to stop around one gigajoule,” Pieter shook his head in amazement. “Alright, I’d like to test it.”

Ms. Starr straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest, “Excuse me?”

“If this is correct, this… heat vision of yours is like an emergency vent, full-throttle on the infrared light which makes the air in its path turn into plasma. And if all your powers do indeed share the same energy source, exhausting it should turn off your protective aura.”

“And you can then get your precious blood sample,” Ms. Starr said.

“Yes, it’ll go a long way to further understand just how your body works Ms. Starr. I cannot force you to do it, but if you really want my help this is the way to go. Ultimately the choice is yours.”

Ms. Starr’s eyes sank down behind deep thoughts, shifting from Pieter to the equations and into nothingness. As the minutes ticked by and she continued to ponder her options, Pieter quietly gathered up the notes they’d made so far. Outside the first few streetlights were turned on, man’s substitute for illuminating the night in the absence of the sun. Finally, she bit down on her lip, a decision was made, one that involved her flying out his office window without a word. A nervous chuckle escaped him, hearing the stories and watching shaky footage on the news was one thing. Seeing Ms. Starr effortlessly flying with his own eyes was a whole different matter.

Patiently he waited for a small hour before Pieter sighed to himself and started collecting his things again. Once more he took his rounds in his clinic, from one light switch to the next. With Ms. Starr’s belongings locked inside his office and his own jacket loosely tossed over his arm, Pieter’s hand was on the last light switch in the reception when he heard an angry tap on the balcony door. The sudden sound cut through the silence like an arrow, Pieter jumped enough to make him drop his jacket. 

Ms. Starr waited outside the balcony door, hovering slightly up and down with an impatient look on her face while Pieter fumbled to collect his jacket and open the door, “I thought you’d just given me the cold shoulder.”

“Look, I’ll admit that I considered it, but… I want to know. I need to know,” she held a dinner plate-sized piece of distorted metal in front of her, “so here goes.”

Pieter noted that her eyes now had a brilliant, inhuman shade of blue to them just before her eyes lit up with an orange glow. An angry hissing sound started to scrape against the walls of the reception as two beams of sharp orange light dug into the metal. It didn’t take Pieter more than half a second before he’d to avert his eyes from the intense light, shielding his face. His skin on his face and hand were bathing in heat as if he was standing just a tad too close to a big, roaring flame.

Almost as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Pieter quietly peeked out from behind his hand, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lights again. Ms. Starr blinked a few times herself after the beams had suddenly died down like the ordeal was a strain to her vision. In her hands, she held the glowing hot piece of metal, though without being in pain. His hand reached out towards the metal, but he held it back with hesitation, “Just what- how does- was I wrong?”

“No doctor, this is a piece of my space pod’s heat shield. It’s supposed to be able to take on massive amounts of heat and still be relatively cool to the touch.”

“Alright, uh… let me, just let me,” Pieter darted back to the examination room and came back with a needle, “check something  real quick here.”

Probably still skeptical or wary of the glowing metal, Pieter carefully rolled up Ms. Starr’s sleeve and attempted to drain some blood. Both of their eyes widened with surprise when they saw the needle go through the skin and the syringe started to fill itself with dark red fluid, “Well I’ll be damned.”

“Look, doctor, this might go without saying but be careful with that,” Ms. Starr pressed down on a piece of cotton where the needle had been. “I’m putting an awful lot of trust in you. Please don’t make me regret it.”


	7. The Art of the Deal

Well back on the yacht, Karen headed straight for her office, carefully tiptoeing around the many computer components that were scattered over the floor, she even knocked off a few items that were carefully balanced on a shelf. Once settled in, she examined the remains of the radio earpiece. The plastic was, for the most part, melted and charred, leaving most of the electronics inside fried. Still, despite these obvious damages, Karen fetched her bracelet and tried to get the two pieces of technology to talk to one another. 

“Argh, this isn’t getting anywhere,” Karen flumped back in her seat, a sharp breath puffed at her bangs.

Her fingers found the keyboard on the laptop and started tapping away. After browsing the web for a while, Karen checked who was online among her employees, “Mr. Carlson, do you have a minute?”

“Just a moment…” the sounds of his headset rustles around, “there. Okay, what can I help you with, Ms. Starr?”

“Look, I took the headset out for a field test and- it worked, but it needs to be sturdier.”

Mr. Carlson took a deep drink from something hot by the sound of it, “Uh-huh, well it was just a quick prototype. So obviously it’d have plenty of room for improvement. Just what do you have in mind?”

Time put on its best running shoes and dashed forward as Karen and Mr. Carlson discussed among themselves how to best improve the earpiece. White lies became frequent stand-ins for the truth due to Karen’s commitment to keep who she really was a secret. While Mr. Carlson did push a little, insisting that it’d help him a lot if he knew just what it was going to be used for, he eventually settled with Karen’s answer that for now, it was merely a small pet project of hers.

Alternating between her yacht, the gym and the StarrWARE office, Karen’s commute back and forth started to take big chunks of her time, especially with no driver’s license and no flight ability. Vernon was at the gym almost daily, always eager to help her with her training. Occasionally he’d get a little astray with petty pissing contests with some other guy, but he usually reeled himself in when Karen showed little to no interest. Gradually the time they spent together increased, from strictly training together to walking each other part of the way to either Karen’s office or Vernon’s place. He’d invite her in almost every time, though she declined on reasons of work. It was only when the movie  _ 28 Weeks Later _ came out that she asked if he’d like to join her after work. 

There were a few times when she came by the office, shaker in hand and lingered by the now-defunct Sweat Lounge room. Inside the dark room where training equipment had stood ready to be unpacked was nothing save naked walls, “Look, Kara,” she reminded herself, “you’ll recover faster if you work outside. Get that sunlight.”

* * *

“Ms. Starr, do you have a minute?” Simon knocked on the door frame to catch her attention.

She motioned him to join her inside the meeting room, “Sure,” she said before looking down on her notes again.

Simon silently closed the door behind him, before he sank down in the seat next to her. There was something off about him that made Karen put down her pen and quietly melt back into focus. It looked like he had a thousand words at the tip of his tongue, his fingers fidgeted restlessly with  some pieces of paper and whenever their eyes met, he quickly found something completely different much more interesting. Karen leaned slightly back in her  seat; the subtle hints of Simon’s boyish aftershave tickled her nose.

“We- uh,” he cleared his throat and tried to straighten his shoulders, “we’re not making any money, Ms. Starr.”

“And?”

Simon’s eyes widened for a moment, “And? And it has your employees worried. Should they start looking for another job? Should they quit right away? Why is our boss more engulfed in personal pet projects that have nothing to do with our business or our main product?”

“Look, Simon,” Karen leaned forward and put an assuring hand on top of his, “we’ve made some good progress, caught up to the delays and our app will be ready for launch. Plus, the gang has some freedom to fiddle with their own ideas and projects. Ideas that can bloom into something big.”

“There- there’s muttering in the halls that some people might leave and take their ideas with them,” he said as he retracted his hand. “You’re brilliant when it comes to coding and optimization and, and math, but you don’t have much sense of teamwork or how to run a business.”

She pushed her notes aside, arms crossed over her chest almost out of habit, “Okay. What do you want, Simon? What do they want? Hmm?”

For a moment he looked at her, a loss for words before he said, “What they- leadership, contingency plans, a future, a reason to stay beyond what looks like a limited number of paychecks. That’s what they want. I don’t want to be another cog in the machine. I want to see this become something more than just another dud.”

“I see,” Karen nodded her head slightly, “let me make some calls and knock on some doors, Simon.”

Back in the good old days, people just showed up at someplace and told the man in charge that they’d like to get a job, only to be assigned a basic task and work themselves upwards from there. The present, however, was a different beast than the apparently golden past. While Karen was no stranger to knocking on doors and making calls, as strange as it might sound, it was easier the first time around. Then she had a product, a fine one at that, which was the tip of her spear. Back then she wasn’t looking for a job, she was looking for capital and those impressive algorithms she’d puzzled together on her own in her bedroom were going to do the job. After enough phone calls, someone somewhere decided to give her work more than a passing glance. And lo and behold, the once so dismissive and hard to impress man practically came crawling through the phone, stacks on money in tow. 

With the roads outside hidden underneath a thick carpet of traffic jams, Karen put down the phone for what felt like the thousandth time, “At least this time I wasn’t being mistaken for the secretary, which is nice. I guess.”

The catch-22 of the assertive woman kept hitting Karen in the back of her head like some overeager boomerang. Whatever women do at work, they have to do it nicely. But the more they back off, the more they don't take her seriously. Karen had been told a few times before that women have to walk a thin line between being too nice and too forceful. Which was sound advice and just when she thought she got the hang of it, a small offhand comment crept into the conversation that made her blurt out, “Well, strong women tend to intimidate boys… and excite men.” Unsurprisingly the call ended soon afterward and Karen’s phone suffered the full extent of her frustrations.

Her stomach gurgled in a muffled prayer for some food, so Karen headed over to the lunch area with her trusty shaker in hand. By this time the office was for all sense and purposes empty, only the subtle humming of computers running idle kept the total silence at bay like a soft cushion. The sound of her feet sounded heavy and hollow as she descended the stairs, her head bobbed around with a drained disinterest in the world and all of its content. Karen caught sloppy herself and straightened somewhat in her composure once she realized she wasn’t alone after all. One of her employees was helping himself with some coffee by the lunch area.

“Oh, Ms. Starr,” he cleaned his fogged-up glasses with his t-shirt, “good evening.”

“Evening,” she nodded slightly with a frown, “Ni- Nicolai, right?”

He smiled sheepishly at her, “Close, it’s Nicholas.”

“Right…”

Nicholas poured himself a cup and was about to put the kettle back on the machine when he offered it to her, “Coffee?”

“No, that tastes just nasty,” she said while her nose wrinkled back with honest disgust.

The conversation died down between the two of them, Karen’s shaker rattled in her hand as water thinned out the pale brown powder. In the stillness between them, a small scented cloud of freshly made coffee slithered out from Nicholas’ cup. A peaceful soothing slowly approached them, tenderly folding its big, soft arms around them. There was something special about being by someone’s side without either of them saying or doing anything.

“So,” Nicholas said, “what are you doing here so late?”

“Working, what else would I be doing?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know to be honest. But I suppose that’s part of the problem.”

Karen turned her attention to the content of her shaker, “Look, Simon and I had a talk earlier today regarding some… concerns. It’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

“With all due respect Ms. Starr,” he brought the cup close to his lips, “you don’t sound all that convinced yourself.”

“Okay, look. I’ll be happy to admit that I’ve run into some setbacks,” she drank from her shaker, her eyes still avoided Nicholas, “but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Nicholas put the cup down, his hands and fingers folded around it, bathing in the comfortable warmth as he said, “I’ll- this might come across as cheesy, but there is some truth in it. Ms. Starr, the teamwork makes the dream work.”

She looked at him for a moment, her eyebrows slightly bent by confusion before a short and loud laugh escaped her. Whether it was shame or common manners that caught up to her first no one could tell, but a small second later her hand clapped sharply over her mouth, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Nicholas gave her a sideways smile and wink, “told you it was cheesy.”

“So…” Karen cleared her throat, “you’re proposing what, exactly?”

He finished up the last bit of his coffee and while he rose from his seat, Nicholas said, “I have a few friends from college that got into the entertainment business rather than computer security. Movies, TV shows, that kind of thing. There might be something for us there, developing or maintaining in-house systems perhaps? Granted, it is not much, but we’ve got to start somewhere and it is better than nothing.”

She nodded, tasting the idea in her mind, “Uh-huh, so you’re our foot in the door, the icebreaker. Who else is on the team?”

“Simon or Martie are both good with people. You only have one shot at making a first impression, if you get off on the wrong  foot, you’re stuck fighting an unnecessary uphill battle.”

“Ms. Lieb is sweet, but she gives me a headache,” Karen turned and started washing out her shaker. “And… am I on this team of yours, Nicholas?”

He walked up beside her, quietly waiting for his turn to wash his cup, “Of course. You’re probably the best software engineer we have. Plus, your… the habit of thinking outside the box could put us ahead of the competition in other ways than simple manpower or experience.”

She smiled and patted him on the shoulder, “Make some calls Nicholas, coordinate with Simon and let me know when and where okay?”

* * *

A few days later handshakes were shared, curvy signatures were scribbled and the deal was safely brought to shore. StarrWARE would be part of Digital Entertainment Network, a bundle of various tech companies that together with veterans from TV were to deliver original episodic video content over the Internet aimed at niche audiences. StarrWARE would provide material for episodes dedicated to creating apps for the upcoming iPhone, something Karen considered a win-win. Her employees got to work with various pet projects which kept them engaged and let them push their skills, while the appearance on the show gave Karen’s fledgling company some much-needed exposure as well as access to potential future employees.

Knowing the right people opened not only a lot of doors, but it also opened a lot of seemingly bottomless wallets. $26 million was put on the table for StarrWARE to "get big fast" as one of the producers told Karen. With money in the bank and a seemingly clean-cut path to future fame and fortune, a celebration was in order. In an effort to keep the team, and thus also the dream working, Karen invited her staff on board her yacht for the kick-off party. As far as Karen could tell, people enjoyed themselves as they mingled, danced and dined. It wasn’t until the third karaoke song that Sonia came by, asking for a moment of Karen’s time.

“Stars above, Dexter can’t keep a tune to save his life,” Karen said while she wiggled her pinkie finger in her ear, “but I don’t think anyone can after six glasses of champagne.”

“I suppose that is part of the charm ma’am,” Sonia said over her shoulder as the two of them headed for the bridge.

As soon as they entered the bridge, Karen’s mood sank down a few notches at the sight of Lucy Kuo. Sonia offered no assistance, instead, she fully ignored Karen’s quiet pleas for a lifeline and instead focused on some of the navigation instruments. Her silent dedication to her work along with the big digital map display at the center of the room left Karen alone with Lucy. With no clean way out without making things even more awkward, Karen sighed and gulped down her remaining champagne.

“I’d offer you a glass, but I’m assuming this isn’t a social visit,” she walked up to Lucy, standing even taller than normal thanks to her high heels.

“You haven’t checked in,” Lucy started only for Karen to roll her eyes in response. “Listen to me, Kara. You can’t do this half-heartedly. You have to follow through, commit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do or do not, there is no try,” she waved a dismissive hand at Lucy, the jewelry around her wrists rattled like soft little bells. “Thank you, master Yoda.”

“Why did you go to the station only to leave again?” Lucy put her hands on her hips, pulling back her jacket leaving her FBI badge open and bare. “What was that, huh? Just- just a game or a prank? You think pulling one kitten out of the drainage is going to- to generate enough public goodwill for the rest of the year, is that it? Good job me, now let’s get all dolled up and throw a party. Is this what you’re thinking?”

“Ah, get off my case!” the glass shattered in Karen’s hand, her tensed up fist clung on to a few stray shards. “Look… I’ve had a lot on my plate lately. And I don’t really like that you keep jumping to conclusions when-”

“Then talk to me, Kara. I can’t read your mind. Tell me. Tell me what you plan to do. What you want to do. If you just do things, I- all I have to go on is guesswork.”

Karen squatted down and started collecting the glass shards one by one, the tight skirt of her dress strained and hugged her even closer, “I’ll handle it.”

“On your own or are we puny humans allowed to participate as well?”

“Teamwork makes the dream work…” Karen said while she poked the glass shards around in the palm of her hand.

“Listen to me Kara, this is very important,” Lucy stressed as she looked down at her, “I don’t have any more excuses for your behavior. I honestly don’t. So, you either step up, cape and all or you step down. Though by that point I doubt they will let you step back down here.”

* * *

Muscle Sands Gym, the following morning. A solid breakfast along with a good workout was a tried and true method to flush out the last remaining hangover. The rhythm and flow of Karen’s jumping rope slowly, yet certainly set her mind adrift, the outside world shifted out of focus. Other early birds started to fill in, exchanging greetings and other pleasantries before settling in small groups of two or three. Karen looked on without really seeing as they egged one another on, to push themselves harder, cheers of encouragement rose in volume as that one last lift inched itself upwards. As the group exploded in high fives, applause and a small victory dance, Karen’s jumping rope swatted against the ground harder and faster than before.

“Okay guys, watch this…” one of them said as he was about to approach Karen. Even though he and his gang were a bit away and the hustle and bustle of the beach were starting to pick up, Karen’s superior hearing nevertheless managed to snatch up his words clearly.

A friend of his put a hand on his shoulder, “Hold up dude, that’s Vernon’s girl.”

“Say  whaaaa ? That porn ‘ tache guy managed to land a lady like that?” he pointed at Karen in disbelief.

“Apparently. They hang out pretty much every time they work out. Come on bro, let’s go. Plenty of babes by the sea.”

The jumping rope fell dead by her feet, Karen’s breath sounded hoarse and deep. Rolling it back into a bundle, she packed it away and helped herself with some water, “Should have brought my mini-disc,” she muttered to herself.

“Karen! My sweet,” Vernon greeted her with both arms stretched high and wide over his head, “you’re stunningly beautiful as always.”

He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek, the hairs from his mustache made tiny little jabs at her skin, “Morning Vernon,” she said without sharing his enthusiasm. 

“Not all sunshine and rainbows today, eh?” he said, putting his things aside. “Let me guess, that time of the month again?”

Karen looked at him partially flabbergasted and annoyed, “No. It’s just- stuff.”

“So, you’re telling me there’s a chance…” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“It’s gone now, that’s for sure.”

Vernon laughed and went to find himself a squat rack. They continued to train together for the next couple of hours, Vernon was particularly bold in his advances today. And while Karen set some clear limits, just how she defined those limits were quite different than previously. Normally she’d partially tag along with Vernon’s advances, yet still, slip away in a manner that made it clear he was not invited past this point without burning any bridges. Today was not such a day, however. The playful smile and gentle re-correction of his hands were both gone. In their absence were firmer hands that softly slapped, like scolding a child and simple, yet sharp commands that drew clear lines in the sand.

Even though Karen left without saying goodbye, she was left with a lingering feeling that Vernon didn’t mind. If she didn’t know  better, she’d say that he actually liked the stern line. A feisty opposition, a challenge to overcome perhaps. Regardless she got what she came for; the hangover was for all sense and purposes sweated out of her system. The slight light-headedness that slushed inside her skull was probably more due to her being out in the spring sun and quite hungry than anything else. Some fruit would have to do until lunch came around, plus a shower might also help clear things out. Not to mention take away the stench of sweat that seems to hug her like a thick smog.

* * *

It was close to the end of the second shift when Power Girl settled down for a smooth landing on Vinewood Boulevard in Downtown Vinewood. A few police cruisers and interceptors stood parked on the parking lots out front, pedestrians and even a few cops on either side of the street paused and gave her curious looks before they went about their business. The rising roar of a Police Maverick’s engine started to overwhelm the traffic and general city noise. For a short while, as the helicopter rose from the helipad rooftop, it kicked up a gust of wind that tucked and pulled on Power Girl’s cape and shook up the branches of the nearby tree.

She’d been here before and there strictly speaking wasn’t anything new about the building itself. It was the same old slab of concrete and glass with a steel bar skeleton underneath. Yet from where Power Girl stood, the five-six steps up to the front door seemed so tall and imposing. A mountain  range, sharp, cold and inhospitable. There was something about those doors that people and officers alike passed through that looked so uninviting. Even if the police station was flanked on either side by the American flag, Power Girl couldn’t quite shake the feeling of rejection.

When her feet finally started to move, it was like she waded waist-deep in wet cement. Every step was a struggle, a fight that feasted greedily on both her stamina and resolve. With the door handle within reach, Power Girl gritted her teeth and curled her hand into a fist to keep it from shaking. The door swung inwards and behind her ears, she could hear Lucy’s words spinning a web of doubt.  _ So, you either step up, cape and all or you step down.  _ A dozen eyes landed on her, some curious, a few hidden behind sunglasses, at least a couple with a leering shine accompanied with an approving smile that made her skin crawl and worst of all, those that looked at her with a deadpan resentment. 

By the reception desk, she couldn’t see any trace of Sgt. Arthur Delgado, though with a deep breath Power Girl figured in for a penny, in for a pound, “Hi- uh, I’m here for Det. Pauline Reed, Senior Field Investigator? I don’t have an appointment.”

“Hold on, I’ll check if she’s still in,” the desk sergeant picked up the phone, “her shift is ending, so you might have just missed- Hello, detective Reed? You have a visitor. I dunno, the costume lady that flies. Uh-huh. Okay, I’ll tell her. Yeah, lady, you’ll just have to come by tomorrow. Sorry.”

“Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

He just shook his head at her as he said, “I dunno about that-” 

Power Girl turned her attention away from the desk sergeant and followed his eyes across the reception until she spotted an aloof black woman in her mid-forties. For a split second, it was as if her legs had a life on their own, acting on a decision that her brain somehow wasn’t consulted on. Before she knew it, she was walking side by side of Pauline Reed, “Detective, could I have a minute of your time?”

She gave Power Girl a slightly tired and annoyed sideways glance, “No, but from what I heard you don’t take orders very well so I guess it doesn’t matter what I say.”

“Look, I wish to remedy that if you’d just give me a chance.”

“A chance?” Reed scoffed and shook her head, “Sweetheart, we’ve given you half a dozen chances by now.”

“Mostly operating on my own, not assigned with a partner,” Power Girl reached forward and opened the door for detective Reed.

Reed gave a quick goodbye to some officers that passed them by, “Uh-huh, and that FBI lady? Is she not your partner? Or is she just a nanny with a badge and a gun, a nanny that you ignore?”

Power Girl bit down on her lower lip at detective Reed’s words, stopping by her side as they checked traffic before crossing the road. She clung to the heels of Reed’s shoes like a puppy pleading for approval, her eyes downcast. Their walk came to an abrupt halt just across the street. Overhead Power Girl squinted in the sun as she spotted a neon sign that had seen better days, Bailey’s it read. Detective Reed opened the door and entered with Power Girl just two steps behind. Inside, the lights were low, the music sounded soft and unobtrusive and, as Power Girl’s eyes adjusted, she saw pictures of cops in every situation covering the walls. Running as an undercurrent to the music was a couple of  TVs’ tuned to sports and news channels.

If the main lobby at the police station was bad, Bailey’s was even worse. Both along the bar and on isolated tables everyone and their kitten looked up, disappointment and disapproval dripped from their faces for a long-drawn-out moment before their interest faded. Somehow the lingering absence of their gaze was even worse. Power Girl steeled herself and headed for the bar counter.

“Detective…” she began, interrupted by the bartender putting down a beer.

“Shift’s over lady, keep it quiet will ya?” someone grumbled from back in the bar, the rest of the attendees mumbled with agreement, intertwined with a light laugh.

Reed ignored Power Girl, instead content on enjoying her beer. The bartender looked from Reed to Power Girl and back again, her mouth curled into an uncomfortable smile. Power Girl looked around one more time, everyone seemed to shun her and even shrink away from her like she was some cold, bitter wind passing through. Only from their peers could they find warmth and comfort, that much was obvious now. Reluctantly she admitted defeat, a frustrated hand slapped on the bar counter before she headed for the exit.

“Hold up,” the bartender said as she gave chase. 

Outside the evening sun took its quick stab at Power Girl’s eyes. The sudden wall of traffic sounds collapsed over her like a brick wall. She found herself growing lighter, the grip her feet had on the ground started to slip and just as she was about to dart off like an arrow, Power Girl felt a slight tug on her cape. Over her shoulder she saw the bartender, the gust of air from a passing truck played with her wavy, auburn hair, making it dance in front of her light blue eyes. She was dressed casually, a simple combo of jeans and a buttoned-down shirt worn open over a police-themed T-shirt.

“I’m sorry about that. You see… uh, well- the cop bar is a great tradition among large departments. Somewhere in the city is a place for officers to spend off-duty hours with comrades, away from families, criminals and official oversight. For the officers of the 13 th Precinct, that place is Bailey’s. Outsiders, however, find themselves politely but firmly excluded from the bar’s camaraderie.”

Power Girl let go, sinking back into the arms of gravity, “So if I ever get invited in for a drink, that’s a tell-tale sign that I’m in their good graces.”

The bartender smiled apologetically, “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I’ve no idea how you’d do that though.”

“Looks like I’m still a joke to them.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere,” she said, hands busy with vague gestures that were meant to somehow assure Power Girl. “For what it is worth, I believe you can do it.”

Power Girl cracked half a smile, “Yeah, you and me both. Look, I better get going. My approval ratings aren’t going to magically climb on their own. It’s been a pleasure… don’t think I caught your name?”

“Alana Bailey,” she said as she offered her hand.

“Power Girl,” she took Alana’s hand and shook it.


	8. Serve & Protect

Sounds of busy traffic and city life floated up like steam from a bubbling pot as Power Girl cruised over Los Santos. Her fingers tapped lightly on the bracelet, a small moment later the earpiece bleeped alive in her ear and radio chatter came through. For the most part, it was just various units that checked in for their shift and the near-constant exchange of police codes left Power Girl more out of the loop than she’d like to admit. The last pieces of sunlight slipped under the  horizon; a grid of streetlights carved up the shadowy city below. A river of cars cut through the city, faithfully sticking to the path dictated by the freeways.

“Any available units in the area of Ginger Street, respond to a nine-one-one call. It’s a… ten-thirty-one,” dispatch’s voice said with a clear, calm and professional tone.

A small pause later, the radio crackled again as a voice said, “Unit eighty-four responding.”

Power Girl stopped mid-air and looked back over her shoulder, “Ginger Street, Ginger… over there I suppose?”

Her eyes tracked a set of flashing police lights that cut through the traffic. If memory served her right, a ten-thirty-one call was some sort of disturbance. As she shifted around and headed for Ginger Street herself, Power Girl dismissed a lingering concern that she could be diving headfirst into a fight, either with hand weapons or firearms. Everyone sounded the same on the radio, collected and professional, so it was hard to gauge if a particular call was bad or not unless you knew what the codes meant. Pride kept Power Girl from asking just what the code meant and for now, she’d decided to watch and learn from afar.

Hidden under the cover of the freshly arrived night sky, she lingered in the middle of the air, adjusting her eyes and ears to observe just how proper police work was conducted. The two police officers moved with purpose and in sync, one on the lookout while the other engaged with the caller. A few questions later and it became clear that the call was regarding a minor disturbance caused by what looked like a homeless person. Power Girl relaxed, the long fingers of gravity coiled themselves around her legs and pulled her down at a slow, steady pace. Her feet softly touched the pavement across the street, illuminated underneath the streetlight she slowly approached the scene.

“Evening officers,” she said, her tone compromised between courtesy and professionalism.

“Oh, great,” Neil Hurst rolled his eyes at her.

Alejandra Quintero looked up, a slight cloud of surprise crossed her face, “Power Girl… I- I didn’t know you were on duty tonight. Did you check-in? Does dispatch know you’re here?”

Power Girl stopped as if she’d just hear the click of a landmine come from underneath her foot, “Whoops…”

“I appreciate the assist, but,” Alejandra shrugged, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to stay back and let us do our job.”

“Or you could just fly away completely and never come back. Ever,” Neil said, his eyes seemed especially threatening under the flashing police lights.

“Look,” Power Girl started, being very aware of every movement and gesture she made, “I don’t want any trouble. I’m happy with sitting back and watching, learning from you guys.”

Alejandra smiled and gave her a polite nod, “Fair enough.” 

“Alex!” Neil’s protest shot out from behind his lips along with a fat torrent of spit before he caught himself, hand clasped firmly over his mouth.

“Neil, it’s okay. Really. Baby steps remember? We all had to start somewhere. Now come on, watch my back.”

The trio headed off into a side street, fat round beams of light from their flashlights danced around the ground and walls. Alejandra had front, relaxed as if she was simply looking for a missing set of keys. Neil was close behind with a hand on his gun, shoulders tense and his eyes made quick darts back at Power Girl. With Power Girl in the rear, she stayed some good ten-twelve steps behind them, senses alert and searching for something, anything out of the ordinary. Her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit side street, which pushed the shadows back and left their secrets exposed. A muddled mix of smells nagged for attention with every breath she took. Last week’s dinner, scented candles, exhaust from the police cruiser whose engine was still running and a myriad of other smaller smells that she could not identify. What finally caught her attention was a sound, lingering on the edge of hearing, almost drowned by the background noise of a busy night. Breathing, rapid and shallow, straining against the hooks of fear that no doubt had sunken deep into whoever was hiding.

“Officer,” she called out with a hushed voice.

Neil gave her half a glance that could sink battleships with ease, “What?” 

“I hear breathing, to our right. Coming up at two o’clock.”

Alejandra stopped and checked to the right before a sigh of relief escaped her, “Found her. Can you stand?”

Out from the shadows and stepping into the light was a pretty young woman of about twenty years. She was slender and well-proportioned and had fair skin and blond hair, but her expression was disconcerting. She looked as though she is about to burst into tears. With a passing look as she was escorted past Power Girl, she appeared to be dressed like any other coed, although her clothes had a long-overdue date with a washing machine. They walked her back to the police car and checked her student ID. All the time she barely held her tears back and while it might be a trick of the police lights, it looked like her face was beet red from the strain.

“ Rose Tremens , a runaway. According to her father, she’s been missing for several weeks,” Alejandra said, her  deep brown eyes landing on Rose. “Any reason why you ran away from home, ma’am?”

Before she could speak up, Neil cut in, “Who cares? Let’s just give her a lift home and get this over with.”

“Neil…” Alejandra’s dragged out tone was drenched with disapproval.

“Or we just hand her over to the DFS,” he said with raised hands.

Power Girl took her eyes off Rose for a moment, “What are those?”

“The DFS?” Alejandra seemed to be thrown a little out of her routine by the question, “Department of Family Services, they do most of the investigating and paperwork in these cases.”

“Uhm… I don’t want to go back home,” Rose’s words were small and cracked as they barely managed to bridge the distance.

“Well, we can’t just leave you out on the streets here, now can we?” Neil tucked his thumbs into his belt and halfway tilted his head backward as he looked at Rose.

Power Girl took half a step between Neil and Rose, “Look, something has her scared out of her wits and if the offer to take her home isn’t helping, I for one smell foul play. Like, abuse or something like that.”

“Well, you can’t just barge in here and make up the rules as you go, sweetheart. Sorry,” Neil said, though only a deaf fool would believe that he actually was sorry.

Alejandra returned the student ID to Rose before she said, “Power Girl if the DFS receives a report that indicates possible child neglect or abuse, the department initiates an investigation within twenty-four hours.” 

“Then what?”

“If an initial contact with the family doesn’t conclusively indicate that the report was unfounded, the investigation continues. State law requires DFS to make a final recommendation within thirty days.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Power Girl’s arms spread out as if building a wall between Rose and the officers. “Thirty days?”

Alejandra shrugged sympathetically, “If clear evidence exists that a child is at immediate risk, DFS doesn’t have to wait for a formal investigative process — the department has the authority to intervene immediately. If DFS finds that a case of neglect or abuse does exist, the department has the legal right to move an endangered child into foster care immediately.”

“Well, all that is kinda beside the point in this case,” Neil sounded awfully smug as he said, “since Ms. Tremens here isn’t a juvenile.” 

A light tug on her cape prompted Power Girl to look over her shoulder. Rose hands had found the edge of the cape, holding on it much like a little child held on to her mother’s skirt. Two small streams of tears curved over her  cheeks; every other blink pressed out another tear. Their eyes met and beyond words, there was a silent, desperate plea for help. It looked to Power Girl that this was a path that Rose had been down before and nothing comfortable or nice waited for her at the end of the line. Her hands curled into fists and her eyes shifted to a determined glare.

“I’ll take her in then,” she said.

“Uh, you can’t do that,” Neil looked over to Alejandra for support. “Can she do that?”

She frowned, eyes turned inwards as if reading line after line of text in her mind before she said, “Power Girl, the DFS maintains a list of households that have volunteered to serve as emergency foster homes and have undergone police background checks to ensure their suitability. You’re not on that list.”

“So? As officer Hurst here just pointed out, Ms. Tremens isn’t a juvenile.”

“I suppose…” Alejandra reluctantly agreed, though doubt still lingered in her voice. “But I don’t know just what you legally can and cannot do Power Girl. Because, well, you’re a special case.”

“Alex. We could check with that FBI lady that magically showed up that one time.”

Power Girl sighed at the suggestion, “Look, I’m not a fan of adding yet another chef to this mess, but if it makes you feel that much better, be my guest. I’m not even sure she’s on duty today.”

Some fifteen minutes later, Lucy was on the scene and had been given a quick summary of the situation. Even she was taken aback by the question and unsure just what the proper answer was. While they did discuss it for some time, no solid conclusion was reached and, in an effort, to diffuse the situation rather than letting Neil and Power Girl continue to raise their voices at one another, Lucy promised she’d check on the finer details first thing in the morning. For now, though, Rose was allowed to go with Power Girl. If nothing else, it’d give her a place to stay for the night and freshen up. When Neil pressed for details of just what kind of place Power Girl lived in, Lucy promptly shut him down.

* * *

Some fifteen years ago, Rose watched old Disney classics together with her sister and would often dream about being carried in the arms of prince charming. Fast forward to the present and that dream had, to an extent, come true. Cradled carefully in Power Girl’s strong arms, Rose locked her arms around her neck while the little light dots from streets below slid aside in favor of the great darkness that was the sea. Throughout the flight, Rose had had this tickling feeling in her stomach, one that frequently visited her whenever she got up high enough. A respectful fear for heights they called it. Though the notion of being in someone’s arms a few hundred feet over the ocean multiplied that feeling until it was a massive boulder in her gut.

“Scared?” Power Girl said. 

Rose tried to speak but couldn’t find the words. Instead, strains of her hair found the inside of her mouth. She tightened her grip on Power Girl’s neck and nodded. An assuring and comforting smile crossed Power Girl’s lips as she said, “We’re almost there.”

True to her word, it didn’t take long before Rose’s feet touched solid ground again. Her eyes blinked, adjusting to her new surroundings. The two of them stood on the helicopter pad on a luxury yacht, overlooking a Jacuzzi two decks below. Night lights were on inside the Jacuzzi, giving it a mystical blue shade. If she stood on her toes and peeked over the edge of the helipad, Rose could barely make out shadowy silhouettes of chairs and tables. At a loss for words, Rose just stood there taking in the sight, a sight that was far away from what she’d expect. Then again, she wasn’t sure just where to expect a superhero of extra-terrestrial origin to live. 

“You’re back early ma’am,” a woman’s voice came from behind.

She followed the sound of the new voice, her eyes landing on a petite woman in a white captain’s uniform. The woman stood rigid and formal, an odd cross between a military officer and a British butler from some BBC show. Rose couldn’t tell if the woman was pleased or disappointed with their arrival, her face was wrapped in the shadow of the night. Power Girl, on the other hand, took it in a stride, joining the woman as if they were old friends. The two exchanged some brief words with one another before Power Girl gestured over to Rose to join them.

“Rose, this is Captain Sonia Sato,” Power Girl said, her arms stretched out as if building a bridge between them. “And we have a proposition for you.”

Sonia face was a blank formality even as she subtly nodded her head and said, “Good evening.” 

“A while back a position opened on the crew and we haven't filled it yet. So, if you want it, the job is yours.”

Rose looked at Power Girl as if she was a madwoman. Jobs don't just drop out of the sky, certainly not the type of job that involves working on a  multimillion-dollar yacht for the filthy rich. Speaking of  rich, just how did Power Girl get this kind of money? She didn't charge people for her services, did she? If she did, just how much did it cost to save someone's life? “Uhm... I don't think I'm qualified. I mean, I haven't- I'm not even done with college yet, so...”

“Nonsense,” Power Girl grinned and patted her heavily on the shoulders, “being a purser is easy as long as you stick to one simple rule; earn a dollar before spending a dollar. Captain, I leave the details with you. Look, Rose, even if you don't take the job, don't be a stranger. You can stay here as long as you want, okay?”

Before Rose could reorganize her thoughts and shove a somewhat coherent sentence out over her tongue, Power Girl drifted up in the air like a hot air balloon before she turned towards the city and shot off like a bullet. For a long moment, Rose just stared at the one spot in the night sky where she last saw Power Girl, jaw slightly agape. When her thoughts finally collected themselves, she turned to the captain and said, “Is she always like that?”

“Occasionally,” Captain Sonia said before she invited Rose inside, “Shall we?”

* * *

Her hand found the hot water knob, once the water stopped flowing, silence sank down over the bathroom like a thick, fluffy carpet. Save the occasional water drop which crashed against the wet tiles and the fading gurgle of the drain, the serene stillness persisted. The hot water and expensive soap had scrubbed off what felt like a thick second skin of sweat and dirt. Rose's hair, though heavy with water, felt like it had been scraped free from some slimy oil-like substance. And it was only through the combined efforts of shampoo and balsam that it was finally allowed to breathe again. As the steam and warm air fled to high ground, a growing chill gathered around her feet before it slithered itself upwards like an unwelcome snake.

“I'll leave your new clothes right here,” the blurred silhouette that was Captain Sonia said, “you'll have to forgive us if it's not a perfect fit.” 

She shrunk back a little inside the shower, “Uh,  tha \- thank you.” 

The reality of the situation was slowly starting to sink in. She'd been scooped up from the street and given free access to shower facilities that cost just about as much as some people made in an entire year. A nervous hand creeped out and fumbled around before it secured a towel, yanking it inside the shower much like a thief would. It was so soft and smooth on her skin, a far cry from the  crispbread like texture of the towels she was used to. The clothes were simple sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a sweater. Aside from the t-shirt, everything else was an odd match; the sleeves on her sweater were too long and there was room for another half Rose in the sweatpants. She was not going to complain though; her old clothes were so dirty they just might decide to go for a walk on their own accord one of these days and too long sleeves were better than too short.

“We might have to do some emergency shopping tomorrow,” Captain Sonia said with a disapproving frown on her face when she saw Rose.

Rose fiddled nervously with the hair tie around her wrist, “Oh please, you don't have to-”

“Come along Ms. Tremens, I'll introduce you to the rest of the crew,” captain Sonia turned on her heel so sharp and precise that it had to be something she'd done a million times over.

With Captain Sonia leading the way, Rose followed through the different rooms and corridors of the yacht, and lastly up some stairs before their arrived at the front of the ship in what looked like a  large leisure area with a huge bar close to the bow. Large windows decorated the walls behind the bar, stretching to either side of the room. On both sides of the room were large, white sofas that looked like they cost about as much as a decently used car, along with stylish dark brown coffee tables. By the entrance opposite of the bar, there were shelves with books and some odd pieces of art. Save a few standing lamps and spotlights in the ceiling, there wasn't that much illumination. Some light bled in from the city lights through the window, though Rose could easily imagine this whole room would be basked in sunlight during the day.

“Evening Captain,” a man greeted them, “this is our new guest?” the man was  a little shorter than average, slightly overweight.

Captain Sonia introduced them with a barely visible gesture, “Rose Tremens, this is my first mate, Cliff Steele.” 

“Nice to meet ya,” Cliff's hand shot out like a piston, his chapstick covered lips parted to show a row of impossibly white teeth which stood in stark contrast to his pencil mustache. 

“Likewise,” Rose hand inched itself forward until it got locked in the jaws of Cliff's fingers. His heart-shaped face looked friendly and inviting enough, even if his hands could crush rocks.

“Try not to break any bones this time Cliff,” a woman called from behind the bar. She stood  a little taller than average medium and was solid build of average weight.

Cliff slouched back into his seat with his smile still in place,  “I love you too Kimiyo.”

“Rose Tremens, Kimiyo Hoshi, she's the chief stewardess onboard,” captain Sonia said, her tone still formal and straight. 

Rose squinted her eyes, trying to get a fix on the woman across the room in the dim lights. As best she could tell, Kimiyo’s face looked round, surrounded by frizzy black hair that seemed to go down to her waist . Once Kimiyo started moving, the speed of her stride was fast and uptight. Up close Rose could see that her sunken eyes hid underneath some bushy eyebrows and flanked a wide nose.

“Hello,” Rose hand still ached from Cliff's handshake, yet she offered it nonetheless.

“Nice meeting you Rose,” Kimiyo's  curled-down lips slipped into a polite smile, giving away subtle hints of crooked teeth hiding behind.

Two sets of feet came stomping through the hallway before two men barged into the lounge area. One older than the other, they were both dressed in overalls and smelled like car engines and gasoline,  “Sorry, we forgot the time.”

“As is tradition I suppose,” Captain Sonia said with a sigh. “No matter, Rose Tremens, these two slowpokes are  Martin Stein, our chief engineer and Ronald "Ronnie" Raymond, our second engineer. ”

“Hi,” Rose shook their hands in turn. Martin's grey hair looked like a gust of wind had taken hold and shaken it around quite a bit, it added a certain charm to his elderly, yet kind uncle like brown eyes. Roland looked young enough to be Martin's son, though they didn't look related. There was a youthful fire to his blue eyes, which stood out even more thanks to his auburn hair.

“Our two chefs are currently ashore, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow to meet them. In the meantime, Ms. Starr has offered Ms. Tremens here the position of purser. Now, she doesn't have any relevant education or work experience, correct?” Captain Sonia glanced over at Rose who just  nodded apologetically in response, “So I expect each and every one of you to be patient and understanding. Ms. Hoshi, I believe you've been in charge of the books thus far. Would you kindly bring Ms. Tremens up to speed, should she accept? Any questions?” 

Rose timidly raised one hand, “Uh, who-who is Ms. Starr?” 

“Karen Starr,” Captain Sonia corrected her with a hint of sternness to her tone, “is the full name of Power Girl, the owner of this ship. Though not her birth name, it is the one she most frequently uses. You will not, under any circumstances, let other people outside of this ship's crew know that Power Girl and Karen Starr are one and the same. Do I make myself clear?”

“Like a bell,” Rose whispered.

Cliff scratched the back of his head, “Maybe we should wait with spilling the big secret until after she decides to join us?”

Captain Sonia’s eyes locked on to Cliff, narrow with annoyance, “Noted. Ms. Tremens, are you hungry by any chance?”

“Starving.”

The crew gathered around by the bar as Kimiyo excused herself to get the dishes. While normally they’d eat separately from the main ship, Sonia pointed out that Ms. Starr was rather relaxed on the subject assuming they had no guests. That said, however, Sonia did stress out that it shouldn’t become a habit and that at the end of the day, Ms. Starr was their employee and they were the crew on her yacht. With food on the table, or rather the bar counter, the conversation started to flow between crewmates from work-related things on their to-do list to friendly banter and the occasional silly prank. When the plates were empty, dishes were put aside and the gang retreated to one of the sofas while Kimiyo along with Sonia made tea for everyone. It was a ritual of sorts, most likely a by-product of having two Japanese women among the crew members, which allowed the food to sink in and give people a moment to breathe.

“Say, captain,” Cliff said while he cupped his tea in both hands, “why don’t you tell us how you and the lady in charge met for the first time?”

Captain Sonia didn’t look up from her cup, just let it's steam and aroma brush against her face with her eyes closed, “That old story again?”

“What can I say? It’s a classic that everyone ought to be familiar with,” Cliff said.

“Ms. Starr had just signed the papers for this yacht when she realized that she’d need a crew to keep it up and running unless of course, she wanted to do all that work herself,” Captain Sonia started before she took a deep drink from her tea. “I’m not sure if I was first on the list or not, but we had an interview together. We talked about my credentials, what she was looking for in a crew and if I could gather people that could not only do the job but also be trusted. I suppose my time in the JMSDF made her hold me in high regard.”

“What’s that?” the question plopped out of Rose’s mouth before her brain could stop her.

“JMSDF? Japan Maritime Self- Defence Force. I was  nitō kaisa , or commander if you will before... At any rate, I had my doubts about the whole assignment. Ms. Starr was nice and sincere enough, but she seriously lacked focus and discipline. She’d, after all, bought a multimillion-dollar yacht on an impulse with no planning ahead. I feared that over time, the two of us would crash into one another until one of us either yielded or it became impossible for us to work together.”

Cliff straightened in his seat, leaning forward like an eager kid, “Now comes the good part.”

“We’d taken our interview at a  café, I can’t remember the name or place at the top of my head. The point is that next door was a clothing shop and as we were about to part ways, a police car stopped by and arrested a young man for shoplifting. The poor young man was cooperative and apologetic, saying he’d just landed a job interview the following day and badly needed a suit, even a subpar, second-hand one, in hopes of securing the job. His promises to return or even pay for the suit should he get the money fell on deaf ears,” Captain Sonia allowed herself an adorable, yet faint smile. “Except Ms. Starr. She talked with the police, then the store owner and paid for the suit. Charges were dropped and that’s how I met Ms. Starr.”

“And the man?” Rose said.

“He got the job, he sent us a Christmas card last year.”

Kimiyo cleared her throat, “Cliff, you’re up.”

“What? My story’s lame, not wholesome.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’re up.”

Cliff sighed and ran a hand over his head, “Okay, okay. I started out tinkering with cars, then got into NASCAR and from there I ended up working my way over the Pacific on a boat. With Japan firmly under my feet, I met with Sonia here and- alright, fast forward a decade or so. She calls me, asks if I want to work on a yacht in Los Santos. I figured sure, as long as the owner isn’t a prick, which plenty of rich people are. The first time I saw Ms. Starr… man, what a titan. I thought I was working for a dude, some kind of hotshot action movie star by the looks of that back. Of course, once she turned around and saw me, she got pissed and slammed the door in my face. A terrible first impression by yours truly.”

Rose let the words sink in for a moment before she said, “Uh, why would she do that?”

“Because she was getting out of the shower. She’s fairly comfortable and confident in her body, though she’s not completely devoid of modesty. Care to share your story, Kimiyo?”

Kimiyo put her cup down on the table in front of her, “Of course. I was the supervising astronomer at an observatory in Japan and lost a long and bitter custody battle over my son,  Yasu . My good friend from college, Sonia checked up on me frequently and eventually suggested that I’d come over to visit her in Los Santos. I jumped at the chance, even quit my job when they wouldn’t let me take the days off. A few weeks after I arrived, Sonia came back from her interview with Ms. Starr. We went out that night to celebrate, reminiscing about our younger days when we worked our way through college and flirted with handsome boys that promised us the world. At some point during the second bottle of wine, I joked about working as a bartender on this shiny yacht that Sonia would sail around in. After all, I did work as a bartender way, way back when. And here I am.”

“If I may,” Martin said before he adjusted his glasses, “you left out the main part of the story, the one where you met Ms. Starr.”

“Quite so,” Kimiyo nodded, “Sonia introduced us and she vouched for me of course. Though Ms. Starr still insisted that I’d prove myself since I wouldn’t be looking at the stars on her behalf. She challenged me to make her a drink, one that suited her. Seeing her impressive physique, even if she was smaller back then compared to now, for a moment I thought she was joking. Some this dedicated to fitness wouldn’t be drinking, right? And all I knew how to make were girly drinks, which  wouldn’t suit her tastes at all. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound and I dived in with Blue Hawaiian. She took a sip and asked for a different type of drink, then rinse and repeat. I went through my entire catalog or at the very least what I could remember; Lemondrop, Sangria, Mai Tai, Frozen Margarita, Thug Passion, Mojito, Sex on the Beach, Cosmopolitan, French 75, Pina Colada, Fuzzy Navel, Mudslide and finally Tom Collins. To top it all off, she slurred out a question. Oh, what was it again? It’s been so long that- Ah, which wine I’d recommend for her. I don’t think she got my answer since she flopped off the barstool just as I answered.”

A light chuckle ran through the group and once the laughter settled down, Rose said, “What would you recommend for Ms. Starr?”

“Sauvignon Blanc.”


	9. Forward Momentum

The clock had just struck six a.m. when Power Girl’s feet gently touched down on the yacht deck. Out by the horizon, the spring sun was vibrant, shedding its darker red and orange tones in favor of a warm yellow. Her steps were long and energetic, almost like a little girl who’d returned from her first day at school, bubbling over with excitement. While Power Girl’s eyes looked both tired and groggy, no doubt a side effect from flipping her sleep schedule on its head, there was also this cheerful shine to them. 

“Good morning ma’am,” Captain Sonia greeted her before she joined her walk, “how was last night’s patrol?” 

She gave the captain a thumb up, “No fuzz or muss, just tagging along and helping out a little. How're things here?” 

They came into the dining room where Power Girl removed her cape and sat down. Shortly afterward the chef put down today’s breakfast on the table; some fruit, a large bowl of oatmeal and a big ham and cheese omelet. Along with the dim sunlight, the dark wooden floor, as well as the green painted walls, kept the dining room wrapped in a soothing shadow. Despite the expensive furniture and grand piano, there was this eerily sensation of a lack of personal touch to the room. For all its splendor, the room didn’t appear to have a soul. It wasn’t until Power Girl was halfway through her oatmeal that the conversation picked up again, “Why are you hesitating to answer my question, captain?” 

Captain Sonia sighed before she straightened in her seat, “Ms. Tremens was introduced to the crew last night, save Mr. Grant and Mr. Hall.” 

“Uh-huh, and?” 

“We went through the usual pleasantries, shared stories to help her feel more at home and dined.” 

Power Girl’s tongue scraped against her teeth in an attempt to get something free from between them, “Judging from your tone, I feel there’s a pretty big but coming up.” 

“But,” Captain Sonia shrugged, “the crew isn’t all that thrilled.” 

“And you?” 

“I’d be lying if I said I was a fan, ma’am.” 

“Huh…” Power Girl wiped her mouth with a napkin, her eyes grew distant for a long moment before she said, “How come?” 

“There are security concerns, Ms. Tremens qualifications are severely lacking and then there seems to be a mental health issue as well.” 

Power Girl leaned forward and nodded, “Okay… what mental issues?” 

“Ms. Tremens appears to have a habit of cutting herself, a rather old one if the scars are to be believed.” 

“Look, Rose seems like a very giving person, maybe because she doesn’t expect to be around long enough to make hoarding anything worthwhile. I’ll keep an eye on her captain, she stays.” 

Captain Sonia nodded, though her eyes suggested that this wasn’t the best idea of the week, “She really does have a generous streak ma’am, but her mental problems might have made it fester into a martyr complex.” 

“No one on this boat is going to die, captain, not on my watch,” Power Girl rose from her seat, towering over Captain Sonia. “Are you picking up what I’m putting down?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

On her way to get a change of clothes, Power Girl spotted Rose in the corner of her eye. Rose was working diligently with her task, struggling with wrapping her head around the many numbers and equations as well as the numerous functionalities of the spreadsheet program. For a while Power Girl just silently stood on the edge of the doorway, observing while Rose shifted her attention from self-made notes to the computer screen and back again. Her face alternated between confusion, frustration, and helplessness until she dropped the pen and quiet tears started to trickle down her cheeks. 

Without a word, Power Girl entered the room and flopped her cape over the back of a chair in passing. A silent arm folded over Rose’s trembling shoulders like a tender wing, brushing her into a comfortable embrace. They sat like silently like this for a long time, Power Girl rocking slightly back and forth like a mother soothing her child. Hushed words lingered on the edge of hearing, it’d work out, there’s no stress, take your time, you’re doing great. Gradually they melted into questions, what is it that you don’t understand? Would you like me to show you? What do you want to do? Can you show me? 

Slowly and surely, one problem at the time the two of them overcame every obstacle that math, budgets and odd error codes threw their way. Step by step notes was carefully crafted and each time the pen lifted from the paper, it was another piece of Rose’s confidence restored, however small. By the time they parted ways, Rose had nearly a full notebook worth of guides and notes as well as the clear realization that things at the end of the day, it wasn’t all that bad. 

* * *

The door to Dr. Cross office opened without as much as a knock and two men in suits along with an Asian woman poured in with the receptionist hot on their heels, “I’m sorry doctor, they just let themselves in and I couldn’t-” 

“It’s alright,” Dr. Cross said, doing his best to defuse the situation. “Hold my calls, okay?” 

Once the door closed the woman introduced herself, “Dr. Pieter Anton Cross I presume? I’m special agent Lucy Kuo from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” 

A moment of silence sunk down over the office, the brittle and fragile kind that would shatter at the drop of a pin drop. She momentarily broke eye contact for a fleeting second, a faint hint of a smile could be seen in the corner of her lips when she saw the goosebump skin on the good doctor’s arms. Lucy’s two lackeys were so plain and anonymous that they could have been mistaken for mannequins in a store window. 

“How do you do agent. What can I help you with?” 

Lucy started to pace around the office like a caged predator, “It’s come to our attention that you have detailed files on the extra-terrestrial. We want to have a copy of everything.” 

Dr. Cross’ chair groaned as he leaned back, “I’m afraid I don’t-” 

“Don’t play games with me, doctor,” the words came out as blunt and subtle as a sledgehammer, “We know that you have for whatever reason succeeded in gaining Kara’s trust and have examined her. This data could prove vital to national security. Do you understand me, doctor?” 

“Well, I’m sorry agent, uh, Kuo was it? But considering a physician-patient privilege and the doctor-patient relationship, I simply cannot-” 

Lucy’s eyes narrowed down to how the good doctor nervously fidgeted with his pen. Her hands curled into fists that he planted firmly on the desk, Lucy leaned over Dr. Cross as she said, “What part of national security do you not understand doctor? Is it the first or second word? Kara is currently in legal limbo, so your point is moot. Give us those files. Now.” 

Dr. Cross let out a nervous little scoff, “Why- alright, you’ll have it and- and that will be the end of it?” 

“Obviously,” Lucy straightened up and adjusted her jacket, “we’d like you to continue to examine the subject and any and all findings will be forwarded to us.” 

“Now agent Kuo, I’m not entirely comfortable-” 

“And- and you will not breathe a word of this to Kara,” Lucy raised a cautionary finger. “If you do, you’ll be locked up for treason. Are we clear?” 

Dr. Cross seemed to deflate himself with a long, heavy sigh of defeat, “Like a bell.” 

“Excellent. Now, the files doctor. If you’d be so kind?” 

* * *

The flickering flames from half a dozen tea lights made the ghostly shadows ripple and scrape up against the walls of Vernon’s apartment. Over the course of the movie, Karen had snuggled up against him, though not for protection or comfort like a frightened child. When it came to horror movies, Karen was a seasoned veteran who considered anything below an R rating not really worth her time. It probably wasn’t what Vernon had in mind when Karen suggested that they’d have a movie night together, though he did soldier through the unrated cut of The Hills Have Eyes like a champ. 

“So,” Karen stretched out, “will you be able to sleep tonight?” 

Vernon scoffed lightly, “Cheap shock value isn’t enough to keep me up at night Karen.” 

She drew a lazy circle on the sofa with one finger, “Look, honey, it’s okay to be scared. I can sleep over if you’d like…” 

He got up in a huff, wrapping himself up in a paper-thin and near-transparent façade of shattered masculinity. Karen looked on with a clever and satisfied smile on her face while Vernon devoted all his attention to ejecting the DVD and getting it safe and sound back in its case. There was something about him that pleased her eyes, the way the cold, sterile light from the TV flattened his figure. A stark contrast to how the light from the tea candles made him seem so warm and inviting. She traced the shifting edges of the shadows that hid his suntanned skin while hugging close to every nook and curve of his muscles. When the cover refused to cooperate with him, a rumbling huff of frustration escaped him, like a daring purr from a big cat. Both his hands and fingers were big and strong, poorly suited for finer tasks yet so very capable, if not ideal for other, more passionate endeavors. 

“Ah, stupid piece of plastic,” Vernon sent it spinning into a chair like a frisbee. 

“My hero, vanquishing and sealing away Vinewood horrors in a cheap plastic container,” she patted the side of the sofa, “come here and tell me about your day.” 

“Got a contest coming up, pretty big deal. You’d think that the competition would be tough on these things, but compared to me, those other dudes are made out of toothpicks and old chewing gum.” 

Karen laughed and seemed to melt into his embrace. There was something blissful about having a pillowed lap, neither too soft nor too hard. The subtle warmth leaking through the arm he’d wrapped around her shoulders, accompanied with a soothing rhythm of his breath. Her smile returned with renewed delight as she felt the tender tease of his fingers stroking her naked skin. Karen wasn’t particularly ticklish, certainly not on her overarm and elbow, yet here she lay, struggling to bite back a stray urge to giggle. 

“So, you’ll win with ease then?” 

“Are you kidding me? I almost feel bad for those other guys. There’s just no contest,” he brushed her hair aside. “Who knows? They might just have to cancel the whole contest and just give me the gold trophy the moment I arrive.” 

“Celebrating a bit early, are we?” she looked up at him and touched his face. “That’s so like you. Look, I’d like to apologize that I haven’t returned your calls lately.” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s just been busy lately with work and whatnot. Finally, things seemed to have simmered down and I should be able to get into a routine of sorts, so we can see each other more regularly.” 

Vernon paused and looked at her seriously, “Funny you say that.” 

“Say what?” 

“That you’ve been busy with work,” the shadows from the candles seemed to enhance his disapproving frown rather than mask it. “Since you didn’t return my calls, I called your office. Several times. Every time they said you had left, sometimes even extra early.” 

“Look, honey,” Karen started, but the sullen shade over his eyes made her pause. She resigned with a sigh before she said, “Fine, I’ve been doing- volunteer work. You know, the whole good Samaritan thing? Once you get into it, it’s actually a lot more work than I originally thought. At least if you want to do it properly. But I’m getting there.” 

“Why?” 

She shot a brief look of disbelief at him, “Why? Because- because there’s more to this world than just me, me and me. There are people out there, good, honest people that have for one reason or another been dealt a shitty hand and could use some help getting back on their feet. My help, your help.” 

“I still don’t see why it has to be you doing this.” 

“Why not me, Vernon?” 

He shrugged, a fleeting expression of indifference crossed his face while his mind seemed to dig into some obscure subbasement for a reply, “There are better things you could spend your time on. Just saying.” 

“Such as…?” 

“There’s the Steel & Iron fitness competition coming up next month, the first price is ten thousand dollars. Plus, loads of sponsors will be there, looking for the next big fitness star.” 

“What…? Why on Earth would I ever-” 

Vernon put a finger over Karen’s lips, “You could win that so easy baby, trust me. Believe me, when I tell you that any and all the ladies in that competition are going to be fake, plastic Barbie dolls compared to you. You’re the real deal sweetie, almost as strong as me. Not quite, but almost. Participate, win and donate some of the prize money to a kitten shelter or whatever. Sponsors would claw each other’s balls off to get you on their team, believe me. Lady of steel with a heart of gold, that’s dynamite baby. You know it.” 

* * *

“Lt. Sid Routman, LSPD Homicide detective,” he held up his badge while he curiously peered over the officers’ shoulder, into the crime scene. 

“Alright, and who’s the cosplay lady?” 

“Oh,” there was something disarming about his tone, like a forgetful uncle, “she’s with me. Don’t worry about it, I’ll keep an eye on her.” 

The cop gave way for Sid and Power Girl, a leering smile on his face as he said, “Okay detective, and let me know if you need any help keeping an eye on that friend of yours. I’d be happy to oblige.” 

“Thanks again for letting me tag along Lt. Routman, it really means a lot to me,” Power Girl said softly as the rather odd-looking duo made their way deeper into the house. 

Sid looked up at her, she stood nearly a full head taller than him, “Oh nonsense. We all have to start somewhere, right. And please, call me Sid. Titles make my skin crawl.” 

They came to the heart of the scene, other Crime Scene Investigators were already in place taking photos of everything of interest and pocketing things, big and small, into appropriately sized zip lock bags. While Sid tried to wiggle his hand into a plastic glove, he noticed in the corner of his eye that Power Girl seemed to struggle with the smell of the scene. Given the blood splatter and overall inexperience of his tag-along, Sid wasn’t all that surprised. He did, however, make a note that despite some clear discomforts, Power Girl didn’t bail out nor did she lose her lunch. 

“Right, let’s get to it shall we?” he handed her a set of plastic gloves with a smile. 

Power Girl accepted them with a forced smile, “So what are we looking at here, Lt. Rou- Sid?” 

“When a crime scene involves blood, you know it’s bad. Someone has either been hurt or killed and figuring out who and why becomes urgent. That’s why law enforcement officials call upon experts in bloodstain pattern analysis, or BPA, to determine what happened as quickly as possible. Every drop of blood tells a story – what may surprise you is these stories’ amazing depth of detail.” 

“Okay, so we talk to these BPA people to get clues, got it. Which one are they?” 

Sid gave her an encouraging smile, “While no expert myself, I’ve picked up a thing or two over my twenty years in the Homicide Division. I think it’d be a helpful skill for you too, if not completely master, at least learn the basics. So, let’s have a look around and I’ll give you some pointers. Oh, and mind your step please.” 

By moving through the crime scene, Sid pointed out things that the blood splatter could tell. Things like time and date of when the crime was committed, type and velocity of the weapons used, movement as well as position of those involved, whether or not the assailant was left or right-handed, types of injuries dealt and if death was immediate. This initial introduction appeared to have smashed an ever-growing hole in whatever dam was holding back Power Girl’s curiosity. She listened to every word he said with the intention of understanding the subject at hand rather than simply responding. 

How much blood does the average human have in their bodies? When do people on average lose consciousness as a result of blood loss? How much can a person lose before death becomes a serious risk? What differentiates the splatter from dripping blood, stabbing and gunshot wounds? How’d one goes about to calculate the impact angle? Sid answered as best he could, eventually abandoning answering altogether and simply confirm whether Power Girl’s own deductions and speculations were correct. 

“Sid, look at this,” she pointed at a splatter on the wall. 

“Well, well, well, would you look at that?” he squinted his eyes a little. 

“Something was here, blocking part of the splatter, leaving this… blank- void here.” 

He nodded, running his fingers through his greying black hair, “Some sort of decoration piece I’d guess based on the nail on the wall.” 

“A picture?” 

“Could be,” he shrugged, “sometimes the killer has clear intentions, other times their minds get all scrambled up in a panicked frenzy, so they do things that don’t quite make sense in hindsight.” 

An officer came up to them, “Excuse me, detective, the husband is upstairs if you want to talk to him.” 

“Right, come along Power Girl,” he ripped off his plastic gloves with a snap before tucking his hands in the pockets of his brown suit, “let’s have a little chat with Mr. Carver.” 

Midway up the stairs to the second floor, they stopped to let some other investigators pass them. Sid smiled and nodded at them before he pulled Power Girl close and whispered, “Let me do the talking, no matter what he says, do not breathe a word.” 

They found Mr. Carver sitting on the bed in the master bedroom. He was a little taller than average with a small-boned build. Yet for all his height, he looked very much like a lost and scared child trapped in a grown man’s body. Dark brown stains of blood were on his hands, arms, and shirt. A common knee-jerk reaction to finding someone you love in a pool of their own blood is to hug them close. 

“Mr. Carver? I’m Lt. Sid Routman from the LSPD, I’d like to ask you some questions.” 

The slightly overweight man drew in a trembling breath, ragged remains from uncontrollable sobs that had ravaged him for God knows how long, “Yeah, okay. Who’s she?” 

Sid glanced over his shoulder over at Power Girl, “Oh she’s just tagging along, learning the ins and outs of proper police work. Wouldn’t hurt a kitten.” 

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Carver’s voice was crude, every sound came out like it was dragged slowly over rough sandpaper. 

“You were the one that found the body?” 

“Yeah… I- I was late ‘cause… Uhm… had to collect the car from the shop. The- the transmission had been actin’ up so…” 

“At what time did you arrive?” 

“Uh… around…. Lemme think,” Mr. Carver ran his hand over his face, stretching his pocked dark-brown skin. “Six… six-thirty? Somethin’ like that.” 

Sid nodded patiently, an air of sympathetic understanding slowly filled the room as he went through his list of questions which Mr. Carver answered as best he could. Two times everything was put on pause as sobs and cries beyond consolation got the better of Mr. Carver. Sid remained patient and understanding, quietly sitting next to him and simply just wait. No stress, no fuss, no nagging, just a near-bottomless well of patience. When the questioning resumed Sid carried on with a gentle consoling tone of voice, occasionally surprising Mr. Caver with such an effortless charm that helped make the dreadful memories just a little bit more bearable. 

“I just… why us?” Mr. Carver said, his thumb traced along an acne scar he had on his chin. 

“Well, thank you for your time, sir,” Sid nudged to Power Girl, silently suggesting that they’d both take their leave. 

Safe back out in the driveway, Sid squinted in the flashing police lights. Despite the crude and noisy light show, he could tell that Power Girl was if not shaken to the core, at the very least troubled by what she’d seen. She had that stoic marble statue look that Sid had seen oh so many times with rookies on their first murder scene. There’d been plenty of mulling and grumbling on the precinct regarding Power Girl, who she was, where she’d fit in and just what she could contribute to law enforcement. As far as Sid was concerned, the jury was still out, but from what he could tell she had potential and for all the powers, abilities and flashing clothing, Power Girl was very human at her core. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” 

She blinked at him as if the words had shattered her trance like a piece of glass, “Oh, I- how… just how do you do it?” 

“Do what?” 

“All of it. I mean the smell, the sights, the questioning… staring at the nasty shit people do to one another for reasons that don’t make any fucking sense…” 

Sid chuckled a little to himself, “Experience for one thing. Give it time and you, I suppose sadly, get partially numb to the details. They become just that, details, pieces of a puzzle rather than people, a father, someone’s daughter or grandparents.” 

“But let’s just say that you’re interrogating a suspect, how… how do you get the answers you need from the suspect? They can tell you what you want to hear, but that’s-” 

Power Girl cut herself short as soon as Sid raised his hand, “I’ll let you in on a tip when it comes to interrogation. The younger officers have a crude term for it, they call it _mindfuck_. You’ve got to manage the suspect's stress level, that’s how you get what you need. If it is too high, you’ll be left with a stuttering fool who’s spitting lies and tall tales just to wiggle himself out of trouble. If it is too low, the suspect can get the sense that they’re in control of the conversation and turn it against you. However, there is a goldilocks zone, where the stress is just right and the truth starts spilling out.” 

“Okay… so how do you manage the stress level?” 

“Essentially,” Sid looked up at the night sky, “you single handily juggle between good cop, bad cop. From what I understand you have the intimidation part locked down like a pro. You just need to know when to shift from clenched fists to an outstretched hand. You’ll probably learn more from cops working the streets than from me, see them in action, listen to the questions, their tone and what vocabulary they use.” 

“Interesting, I’ll have to look into that,” Power Girl’s face grew distant with deep thought. “One last thing though.” 

“Sure.” 

“How do you sleep at night?” 

“Oh, that’s easy,” Sid smiled, “no coffee after seven.” 

* * *

“Dispatch, this has been through traffic.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Going to be out with some grey souls and I’m gonna be at the gas station at Western Eclipse Blvd. and Great Ocean Highway. David, John, Sam, five, five, five and Paul David come back not on file. Be advised I’m going to use caution.” 

“County dispatch, Sam three on a stop possible drugs in play. Requesting canine.” 

Power Girl looked down on the city streets below, shifting from left to right as she got her bearings. If drugs were in play there was a chance that any potential suspect might be under some sort of drug influence. She saw this as a good opportunity to get some first-hand experience with the seemingly magical mindfuck that Sid had mentioned to her earlier. With a twist of her torso, Power Girl plotted out her course and shot forward. 

When she arrived on the scene two officers were already present with a couple of bland, grey looking cars parked by the gas pumps. A single suspect was sitting on the ground, appearing to be in a daze “Gentlemen,” Power Girl greeted the officers once her feet touched the ground. 

“Hello,” the officer’s tone was not exactly enthusiastic, but at least it wasn’t soaked in resentment. 

The other officer carried on with his questioning, “Your vehicle’s a little beat up, you been in an accident or something?” 

“Actually… it was like that when I got,” the suspect shrugged 

“Oh really?” both officers exchanged glances at one another while Power Girl stayed out of their way, simply observing. 

“Alright, just a few questions before you proceed any further. Is there anything that vehicle illegal?” 

The suspect tilted his head at the officers, “Well… like I said, I have no idea. I just got the car.” 

“Okay, so I’m informing you right now that if there is something in that vehicle you are in custody of that vehicle, therefore you are responsible for everything in it.” 

“Oh-kay…” the suspect gave a drowsy nod. 

Power Girl looked away and hid her cracking smile behind the back of her hand. The patience of these officers was really something else. If it had been her, his teeth would be in high orbit already. Between the rushing sounds of cars driving by on the highway, the sun high in the sky and the smell of exhaust from the cars, there was something odd that caught her attention. It was fairly faint, a smell of sorts that ran away at the slightest breeze. Intrigued she started sniffing the air, taking one step after another, following its trail. 

The officer sighed before he said, “Okay, so I mean if there is, now’s the time, to be honest about it. I have the dogs on the way.” 

“I heard that, but it’s kinda hard for me to tell if something is in it since I got it for free. And since I haven’t really, you know. I mean I’ve been driving it, but I haven’t done much more than that. So, I’m guessing it’s empty. Yeah.” 

While Power Girl approached the car, peeking through the windows and squatting down by the side of it, the officer said, “I see, but that’s the problem. Somebody just upright gave you a car. Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious? 

“I… said I was going to a new town and he’d offer to help me.” 

“Hey, you guys smell that?” Power Girl popped her head up from behind the car. 

“Smell what?” 

“That faint… chemical smell, like I don’t know? Paint thinners, paint removers, or cleaning fluids of some sort.” 

One of the officers approached her, also sniffing the air, “Sterile scents, kinda like how a hospital smell like?” 

She snapped her fingers, “Yeah, either that or someone’s drowning their fingernails in nail polish.” 

He turned to his partner, “Should we risk it?” 

“Might as well. If it’s a dud, it’s a dud.” 

The suspect shifted his weight around restlessly, “What’s going on?” 

“Looks like our friend here is alerted on your vehicle.” 

“Alerted, what do you mean alerted? What does that mean?” 

“That means she smells something in that vehicle that by the sounds of it, shouldn’t be in it. So right now, you’re gonna be detained pending further investigation.” 

While one officer detained the suspect, Power Girl continued to circle around the car in an effort to further pinpoint the source of the smell. Occasionally she gave the suspect a casual glance, though he did not change his dazed and slightly drowsy look. Perhaps he was just caught in the crossfire, a pawn on some greater scheme or he could simply be one hell of an actor. This was Vinewood, after all, pop culture and movie capital of America. “Look, sir, while they’re doing their thing I going to take some time to advise you on your rights. You sound a little confused about the situation, okay?” 

“I’m definitely confused right now.” 

Power Girl stepped away from the car and approached with her patience running on reserve, “Let me get rid of some of that confusion for you right now. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you. Any point during questioning you have the legal ability to stop questioning and request a lawyer. Do you understand your rights, sir?” 

“Yeah, but what I don’t understand is what I’m under arrest for. I mean I just drove the car-” 

“Okay sir, look,” Power Girl raised her hand, whether it was to shut up the suspect or a conscious effort to restrain her own impatience was hard to tell. “You’re not under arrest, not yet. You’re being detained and that’s- very different than being arrested. They need probable cause to put you under arrest, but we’re not at that point yet. But I suspect that we’ll get there.” 

“Vehicle comes back stolen, right from the driveway,” the officer called from his cruiser. 

“What? How?” the suspect struggled slightly against his cuffs. “When did this happen?” 

“Let’s see here, uh… the report was taken at thirteen-hundred yesterday.” 

The suspect blinked as the information sank in, “Well that’s weird…” 

“No shit Captain Obvious,” Power Girl said. “Look, so your average everyday citizen that’s doing nothing illegal, just out and about doing their own thing does not-” 

“I work as a tow trucker,” the suspect protested. “I normally just do my job and leave by it, but this time I finally got a car ‘cause I didn’t have money enough to buy me one and was this guy that I met up and he said he could give me one.” 

Power Girl’s jaw bit down firmly on the frustration that simmered deep in her belly, “Look, here’s my problem. You’re asking us to believe a total stranger just gave you a-” 

“I’m not asking you to believe me, I’m just telling you what happened, alright? That’s all I’m saying. I’m just giving you my story and that’s what you’re asking me to do, right?” 

“Look, I mean- if that’s, that’s your story and you’re going to stick to it, that’s fine sir. But that just doesn’t happen.” 

“Well… stick to it? That’s what happened,” he shrugged at Power Girl. “There’s no point in changing any story that’s true.” 

“Look, sir, even if it did happen, it should raise all sorts of red flags, sirens, bells, and whistles.” 

The officer that had been searching the car held up a plastic bag containing shards with a crimson color to them. From the corner of her eye, Power Girl noticed that the content of the bag seemed unexpected to the officer as if he couldn’t quite make out what it was. She passed by the suspect, leaving the remaining questioning to the other officer, “This kinda reminds me of meth, but…” 

“But what?” 

“I dunno, why color it? It just deludes quality. Guess we’ll hand it over to narcotics, let them figure it out.” 

“Beats me, you guys go this?” 

The officer looked at her and nodded, “Yeah, we’ll wrap this up. Thanks for the assist.” 

She patted him on the shoulder before taking to the skies once more, “No problem, stay safe.” 


	10. All That She Wants

“Welcome back ma’am,” Captain Saito greeted Power Girl as they met in the hallway, “you weren’t on the nine o’clock news today, so I assume it’s safe to say that it was an uneventful shift?”

“Ha, ha, ha…” Power Girl’s mocked laugh came out hollow and sarcastic, yet also unoffended. “I’m not sure if I’d be surprised or disappointed if the news decided to crawl all over me for properly reading someone their Miranda rights. How’s Rose doing?”

“Ms. Tremens? She’s caught up with the bookkeeping and asked if there was anything  else she could do. I believe Kimiyo asked her to help out with some simple cleaning chores.”

Power Girl gave a few nods of approval, “Nice. I’ll take a shower and be in my office. Could you check with Ted if dinner will be ready soon?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The sound of Power Girl’s boots got slightly muffled as she walked over the thick carpet down to her bedroom. A hand found her shoulder, massaging it while it rolled slightly in its socket. Just then her feet stopped moving and a frown formed on her face. Curiously Power Girl looked down on her suit, pulled her cape close and smelled it. With her eyes looking down the hallway with a skeptical tilt to her head it took a few seconds before the dots got connected in her head. Like a top-trained athlete at the hundred-meter dash start line, Power Girl’s feet shot off and made her dash down the hall at neck-breaking speed. Without care she stomped over her bed, leaving crude stains on the sheets before she slammed on the breaks as she arrived at the bathroom door.

Inside the bathroom the smell was overwhelming, a thick smog that slammed against her face. Her steps were slow, careful and quiet. Like an icebreaker Power Girl cut through the thick air and the all too fresh smell of blood. In the bathtub she found Rose, water almost up to her chest and blood dripping from her wrist. It was probably just a fraction of a second to take in the sights, but it seemed to drag on for a full decade. When the neurons in Power Girl’s brain started to fire again, her arms shot out like a pair of angry bullwhips. Swiftly and firmly she swooped Rose out of the tub and darted back outside as fast as she dared.

Central Los Santos Medical Centre and its staff were no stranger to sudden and rather unexpected situations. However, even the season veterans were taken slightly aback by the sight of a crying and pleading Power Girl arriving with a woman in her arms. The initial surprise and shock got brushed aside fast enough and routinely kicked in. Power Girl told them what she knew and they rushed her away to surgery. Alone with watered-down bloodstains on her suit, Power Girl slumped down in a chair, waiting powerlessly for news.

“What’s wrong, my child?”

Power Girl looked up from her trembling hands, her eyes landed on a man who was slightly above average in height and thick-bodied. His brown hair looked to be trimmed close to his scalp and most notably he was dressed in a chaplain’s garb. “Aside from just about everything? Not much…”

The man sank down in the seat next to hers. As he leaned slightly forward to engage a conversation, Power Girl turned her head away, “Look, Father… that’s what you are, right? A man of some god or something along those lines?”

“Yes, my name is Father Calhoun.”

“Right,” she drew a deep breath and held it for a short second. “Look, no offense Father, but I’d rather hear from the doctors than from you and your gods.”

He nodded and smiled faintly, “I understand.”

* * *

As the first drops of consciousness started to drip into Rose’ mind, one of the first things she noticed was that it was a real struggle to get her eyelids to cooperate. Everything was as if made out of lead and cast in cement, heavy and immobile. A drowsy mind trapped in the dungeon of her own body. With the draining chore of exploring the limits and confinement of her new surroundings, Rose dazed mind realized that she was hurting in places she didn’t even know existed. Carefully she yielded to her limitations, retracing her steps back to the safe, dark depths away from the tall borders of her existence. 

Through a faint crack in the same border, Rose noticed something faint, a subtle warm touch on her hand. Her brain rolled around like a block of heavy ice slugged ocean while the muscles on her neck creaked and groaned, painful needle stabs hammered away on her nerves like over-eager telegraph operators. Yet Rose persisted, curiosity edged her on. She had to know. Maybe it was because of the strain and pain, maybe it was because of her emotional state, but the sight of a sleeping Karen, carefully holding her hand made Rose’ eyes water.

Slowly sleep leaked out of Karen, half her face had the folds of the sheets imprinted on it and a lone streak of drool traced from the corner of her mouth, “ Mornin ’…”

“…hey…” Rose’s voice cracked into a hoarse whisper.

“How you  doin ’?” Karen shot her an upward nod.

A soft laugh, it hit Rose in the chest like a hard-moving tennis ball, “Okay I guess…”

Silence slipped in between them, barely interrupted by the muffled hustle and bustle of the hospital along with the various equipment that monitored Rose’ condition with painstaking accuracy. Karen blinked and stretched the sleep out of her, never once did her hand leave Rose’. As much as she tried to hold them back because it would hurt, Rose couldn’t stop her tears and sobs from rolling through her tired frame. Her face distorted itself beet red in pain, cheeks and lips got crudely smeared with a paint of snot and tears. Karen’s patient soothing and gentle touch on her forehead only seems to fan the flames of Rose’s distress.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the words slipped past her lips over and over again as quickly as her sobs and ragged breathing allowed.

“Ssshh… it’s okay,” Karen’s hand was tender to the touch, love and concern peeked through the tired veil that lied over her eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for, okay? I’m just glad I didn’t lose you.”

“I had to- I had to get away. Dad changed when mom died. I didn’t know, sis kept it to herself. When- when dad told her that she would attend a local college so she could live at home, Vanessa hanged herself in the basement. Why? Why did she do that? I couldn’t under- then dad touched me for the first time and- and- and I understood everything.”

Karen said nothing, she just quietly listened while wiping away tears and snot with paper tissues. All the time her hand held on to Rose’, never hard enough to hurt, yet also not so soft that she might  slip out. Just the right amount, a steady reminder that Karen was not going anywhere, come hell or high water.

“So- so I ran, alright? I didn’t want any trouble, honest. But I was alone, scared. I had nowhere to go. The money disappeared quicker than I thought. Have you ever realized just how big, crowded and at the same time empty the city is?”

“Yes,” Karen looked her straight in the eye, “the only thing worse than being alone is being alone in a crowd.”

“Y-yeah, I guess you know a thing or two about that…” Rose shrunk a little down in her bed. “But when you took me in… it was great, but, but also too much, too soon you know? I went from this big, black, bottomless and uncaring ocean to a tiny cell. At least in the city, I felt I could run away but at your place? I kept thinking that dad might show up and- and I’d have nowhere to run. That I’d have to go back with him…”

“Now that,” Karen said firmly, “is not going to happen.”

“But you’re away so often now and-”

“Look Rose, honey listen to me. You’re safe there. You’ve met the  crew, you know they’d never hand you over. Besides, do you really think that crew as assembled by chance?”

Rose blinked at her, a cloud of confusion drifted over her face, “I don’t understand…”

“Look, I have a rather nagging FBI agent that keeps an eye on me because of who I am and what I can do. There’s no way that they’d let just ordinary people be the crew on my yacht. So, there’s a lot more to your shipmates than meets the eye. Even if I’m not there, you’re perfectly safe, okay?” she leaned forward and kissed Rose’s forehead, “I’ve got to go, get some rest okay? I’ll check in with you soon.”

The elevator doors opened and Lucy Kuo found herself face to face with the person she’d set out to meet, Karen Starr. They exchanged looks at each other until the doors started closing again. Without losing eye contact, Karen’s hand pushed the door aside before she stepped into the elevator. Save the humming of the elevator engines, there was an awkward and unpleasant silence that kept filling the elevator.

“I came as soon as I heard,” Lucy said.

“Guess that means that I made it to the news. Again.”

“Actually,” Lucy gave her a sideways glance, “no. Hospital staff has enough common sense to not talk about such things to the press. Celebrities love their privacy after all.”

“So, who…?”

“Father Paul Nelson Calhoun came to me, apparently he works as the 13 th precinct chaplain. He was discreet in his concern.”

“Look, Lucy,” Karen sighed, “there’s obviously more to your visit than just out of concerns of one of my employees. So why don’t we just cut to the case, okay?”

Lucy shrugged, “Fair enough I suppose. Your efforts to do better haven’t gone unnoticed by the brass Karen, but… I’m afraid they feel that it is too little, too late. You need something big and you need it fast. They’ll pull the plug on you Karen, General Randall has been asked to start mobilizing.” 

“You’ve got to be shitting me…”

“It’s out of my hands, I’m sorry,” the elevator dinged and the doors opened. As Lucy stepped out of it, she said over her shoulder, “From here on out you’re on borrowed time Karen.”

* * *

A police cruiser siren jumped to life outside Mission Row Police Station before it sped off down the street. It provided a welcome distraction that kept pedestrians from staring at Power Girl as she came in for a landing. As she climbed the stairs up to the main entrance, the stress of her current situation gave her tunnel vision. Pleasantries and social chit chat would simply have to wait, right now Power Girl was just starting to gain momentum and things were slipping through her fingers like fine sand. All good and dandy, but she’d be damned if she’d go down without giving it her absolute best, exhausting every option and calling in every favor. 

“Hi, is Lt. Sid Routman in? I don’t have an appointment,” Power Girl drummed on the receptionist counter impatiently. 

“Yes, I think I saw him by the locker room, but-”

“Thanks!” her feet started to carry her away in a light jog before her brain managed to shove the word out her mouth.

“This here is Bobby, my second grandchild. He’s three now and-” Sid’s words got cut off by the loud bang of the door opened. Puzzled he looked up and saw Power Girl standing in the doorway.

“Sid, I need your help.”

“Oh. Okay, what can- sorry, we’ll catch up later, yeah?” he patted the janitor on the shoulder. “What’s the big emergency?”

Power Girl brought him up to speed with her relationship with the government, the FBI, and their dismissing patience. Words tumbled over one another and stumbled out of her mouth at the speed of a Gatling gun, with the occasional sudden stop where she heaved for air. 

“Well,” Sid scratched the side of his head, “prior to the nineteen eighty's, Homicide was the place to be if a detective wanted upward mobility and publicity. However, since the explosion of cocaine two decades ago, we estimate that up to seventy-five percent of violent crime is somehow drug-related, either directly through drug wars and rivalries or indirectly, like junkies needing fast money to fuel their addictions. If your friend at the FBI advised you to get some big and flashy results fast, I’d check with the narcotics division.”

She nodded intently, “Any recommendations? I not really in a position to deal with assholes and sweeten up to them.”

“You could try Sgt. Gena Buehler, she’s an undercover narcotics detective. I seem to recall that she’s working on some new designer drug case, but you’d have to check with her to be sure.”

“Is she here now? Where can I find her? Got an address?”

* * *

Images on the TV chased after one another in rapid succession, creating the illusion of movement while cheesy declarations of love were accompanied with sugar-sweet music. The occasional sleazy evening home alone in front of the TV was a nice break of pace for Gena. She had all the signs of  someone who once was very attractive and still could be if the situation called for it. But her beauty was fading, worn away by years of stress and obscured by the hunted expression common to undercover officers. A natural blonde, she was still in good shape despite that she no longer exercises regularly. 

Her finger found the mute button on the remote at the slightest hint that yet another barrage of commercials was about to roll out. She squirmed, stretched and yawned in the sofa, hand reaching for some hidden handle high over the ceiling. With an empty bowl of chips in one hand and sipping down the last drops of wine, Gena made her way to the kitchen for a refill. Halfway there she paused and listened. Either the wine was playing tricks on her or something odd was coming from the bathroom. Curious, yet also cautious Gena traded bowl and wine glass for her service gun.

The bathroom was empty, the window was still intact. Her tense shoulders started to relax when it came again, a tapping sound that swiftly brought out the edge in her. With slow and steady steps, gun pointed firmly at the window, Gena approached it. Musing through the frosted glass, she caught the eye of some sort of floating silhouette. Perhaps it was some child’s balloon that had got caught up on something? She fumbled a little with the lock on the window, the handle being more stubborn than usual, probably due to being left alone for years. With a solid yank, the window came open.

“Hi,” Power Girl almost shyly waved her hand at her.

“Uh… hello?”

“Look, I know this is going to sound weird, but I’d like to help.”

Gena blinked at the floating alien, “Alright, uh… help- help me or?”

“Yes, yes. You see, uh… how can I- okay, look. The feds and brass have practically lost their patience with me, but if I can prove to them that I’m worth my salt, I get to stay.”

“You’re not making any damn sense girl,” Gena said as she finally put the gun away.

Power Girl let out a frustrated sigh, “Look I know this is weird and- can I just come inside? This is awkward as it is and talking through the bathroom window doesn’t really help.”

“Didn’t know you had a thing against front doors or doorbells but be my guest.”

Her head bobbed softly with appreciation before Power Girl wiggled herself through the window. With both feet on the ground, she only managed to take half a step before something tugged on her cape. It had caught on to a closet handle and while it was an easy fix, Power Girl’s hands paused as her nose wrinkled, “What’s that smell?”

Gena’s spine tensed up as her spine froze, “I- I’m not sure- I don’t really smell anything.”

“It’s like… sharp and I don’t know, erosive.”

“Could be the nail polish,” she wiggled her fingers to show her sterile clean nails. “But- come on inside, if it bothers  you, we shouldn’t be hanging in here like a couple of high schoolers.”

A small hour and a glass of wine later, Gena had been brought up to speed with Power Girl’s latest challenge, “So essentially you want in on the case, get a nice feather to put in your hat and get Uncle Sam’s stamp of approval?”

“Pretty much,” Power Girl fidgeted with her hands while she anxiously looked around the apartment. 

“Fair enough girl, fair enough. But even in narcotics takes time, time you apparently don’t have. And as you said yourself, you’re a rookie fresh off the boat. I’m sorry, I can’t let you risk the investigation.”

“No, no, no, Gena please,” Power Girl took a step forward, her hands partially folded in a prayer. “Can I call you Gena by the way? I’ll be good, okay? I’ll- follow your lead. Plus, who wouldn’t want to have a bullet resilient partner that can defy gravity?”

“I don’t know, girl,” Gena let out a sigh. She avoided Power Girl’s pleading eyes for a moment, then another before she said, “I’ll get you the case files, alright? Just give them a read. Maybe you see something that I’ve missed or perhaps we can use your… abilities in some creative way that will give us the upper hand.”

* * *

Somewhere in the clutter of Karen’s office on her yacht, she’d managed to stuff a box containing all the info on Gena’s drug case. Between compiling software code and reading StarrWARE related e-mails, she found a fleeting moment of peace that allowed her to read the crimson files. The Narcotics Division has become increasingly alarmed at the proliferation of this new designer drug, which chemically appears identical to normal crystal meth, but also has several unique properties. Crimson, as its name implied, appeared to be bright red instead of the normal rock-salt appearance of meth. 

“So, does that mean someone competent is the cook? I guess a new drug could be made as a fluke, but-” the cell phone rang and threw a hissy fit underneath some papers as it vibrated for attention. “Yes? Karen speaking.”

“Hi, baby.”

“Hi Vernon, sorry I’ve been out of touch. I just- been busy with work and a friend of mine attempted suicide,” she slumped back in her chair, deflated from the mind-numbing workload.

“So busy you’ve been neglecting your training?”

Karen flexed her arm little, subtle hints in her shirt suggested large muscles shifted and tensed up beneath the fabric, “I wouldn’t say that, just a… shift from hitting the gym to more bodyweight exercises I do at home. You know, push-ups, overhead lunge, jump squats and whatnot.”

“…Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, the commute to and from the gym between work and home was just a killer.”

Vernon scoffed, “So? You could just crash at my place.”

“Tempting,” Karen smiled, “but I’d like to be here when my friend gets out from the hospital.”

“What friend?”

A pause. Karen looked at the phone as if it was malfunctioning, “The friend I just told you about? Who attempted suicide?” 

“Boyfriend?”

Her fingers coiled around the phone like a pack of pythons, “If that’s supposed to be a joke Vernon, I’m not laughing.”

“What? A man can’t look after his woman now?”

“Look,” Karen straightened in her seat just as her fingers found the table and drummed at it with an impatient rhythm, “you don’t own- you know what? Forget it, Vernon. Just- was there anything else?”

The speaker in the phone struggled to pass on Vernon’s drawn-out sigh, “You should come by the gym later. We could work out and grab a bite at my place afterward.”

“I’m sorry Vernon,” she picked up the case file again, “but now is not a good time. Later, okay? I’ll make it up to you.”

“Babe, you don’t need to sit behind a desk all day, every day. I’ll win every contest in the state and provide for both of us. But I need you to be by my side babe. Judges love a power couple, trust me.”

Karen lowered her head and sighed, “Look, good on you for having goals and the confidence to follow through, but if I let you do you, it’s only fair that you let me do me.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Vernon drew out another heavy sigh, clogged with disappointment. “You’ve found yourself some other guy. Probably Johnson, he’s been tripping around thinking he has a shot at the state title.”

“Vernon,” she shouted into the phone like a crackling bolt of thunder. “Get your head out of your ass. Believe or not, there’s more to the world than your narrow view of weights and bodybuilder titles.”

There was something unsatisfying about hanging up with a cell phone. A simple press of a button and a hollow  doot like sound didn’t quite reflect the turmoil that rummaged through Karen’s core. In that regard, she was a little envious of the telephones of old, big, chunky and solid enough to take a beating. That heavy smack of the handle accompanied with the lingering ring of the bells inside stood much better in proportions with the emotions at hand. As tempting as it was to throw the phone away and watch it divide into half a dozen different pieces upon impact, Karen ultimately decided against it.

* * *

“How are things looking, girl?” Gena’s voice cracked a little in Power Girl’s earpiece.

She leaned over to get a better view over a passing cloud, “Looks good from here. Love your new style by the way.”

“Well, looking like an addict is part of my job, after all.”

Power Girl kept her sights firmly set on Gena as she navigated up Innocence Blvd. towards Vanilla Unicorn Strip Club. Drug use wasn’t unheard of among strippers or their clientele. Considering how common and borderline open it was, nearly all parties involved could smell a narc cop from half a mile away. Thankfully Gena had done some serious legwork up to this point, building up sufficient street cred while spinning a web of who’s who when it came to trading Crimson. They might expect police choppers and cars on a stakeout, but an alien that defies gravity for whatever reason? They’d never see it coming.

The setup was simple; Gena would head inside and mingle. People of interest would be forwarded to Power Girl, who’d in return keep a track of them from the air until they’d gotten enough distance from the club and regular police would take over. Should the shit hit the fan, Power Girl’s job would be to get Gena the hell out of there. Once Gena was inside and out of sight, Power Girl adjusted her position slightly so she could get a better view of the cars parked outside. A few fiddles with her bracer later and she could take notes for later use. Vehicle descriptions and license plates took priority.

“PG, you read?”

“Power Girl here, what you got Gena?”

“Be advised, number two male with shoulder-length brown hair, green t-shirt, and jeans. About five feet nine. There’s a good chance he’ll step out to get to his seller.” 

“Copy that, I see him,” she traced the man every step of the way from the entrance up to his cyan-colored Prairie. “Dispatch, could you run plate four, two, Sam, Victor, Nora, two, one, eight for me, please? I still can’t get my equipment to fully talk with your system.”

Power Girl had a bit of a trouble getting a good angle to see what the man was doing inside his car. It looked like he was either fiddling with the radio or fishing something from underneath the passenger seat. Either way, the man  jammed his hands in his front pockets as soon as he stepped out of the car. Cautiously he shifted to look over one shoulder then the next while he headed back inside. On the corner stood a stripper or a prostitute, it was honestly a little hard to tell the two professions apart, on her smoke break.  She inspected her fingernails without really looking and soon enough smothered the cigarette under her foot before heading back inside after the man.

“Gena, your number two male is back inside and seemed to have caught the eye of a… uh, number three female, short black hair, high heels, scarlet thong and a shit ton of makeup. I’d say about five feet flat with basketball tits. See if you can catch them trading.”

One hour bled into another while the sun trekked over the sky along an all too familiar route. Power Girl persisted, noting customers coming and leaving, sometimes alone, sometimes with company. Anything of interest was forwarded to dispatch who’d in return point patrol officers in the right direction. By the time the street lights turned on, Gena was ready to call it quits. She’d retrace her steps back to Macdonald St. where she’d get picked up.

“Well that was fun,” Power Girl said into the radio.

“Yeah,” Gena stretched and squealed a little, “here’s to hoping that some of the guys we caught today will tell us something. You can head back to the station now, we’re good girl.”

“I’m good Gena, I’ll follow you all the way to the door.”

“Thanks, but you know I can take care of myself, shady neighborhood and whatnot.”

Power Girl ran her hand through her hair, “Better to be safe than sorry. I don’t like losing people.”

“What’s that? I didn’t catch the last part.”

“Nothing, just wondering if you’d get some fried noodles afterward. I’m starving.”

“I bet,” Gena  gave a dismissive wave of her hand , “nothing burns calories like going up against gravity for several hours.”

She gave a half shrug and smiled while following Gena carefully with her eyes. As she adjusted her sight to zoom out a few notches, Power Girl’s smile faded while her  forehead furrowed .  She took in the sight of a couple of rather shady looking guys that tried just a little too hard to just stroll down the same way as Gena.  A muscle in her jaw tensed , “Gena, I think you might be followed. Stay sharp.”

“Copy, crossing Davis Avenue now.”

“Look, Gena, you need to pick up the pace, they’re ignoring traffic to get to you.”

Gravity wrapped its chains around Power Girl’s legs and pulled her downwards faster and faster. Coming down like a nail, she pressed on beyond the tuck and pull of gravity until she landed on the sidewalk with a booming thud. Behind her, she heard the click-clack of Gena’s high heels, soon drowned by screeching car breaks and honking horns. Somewhere in the  neighborhood , a dog barked, its chain clattered with a dead metallic ring.  She gave the duo a lopsided grin, “ Evenin ’ gents. Nice night for a stroll, yeah?”

“The fuck this bitch ‘bout?” one said as he screwed up his face into something that was probably meant to be intimidating. 

She grimaced she said, “You kiss your mom with that mouth?”

The other man reached behind his back, “Man, fuck this dumbass cosplay shit.”

Power Girl went poker-faced when she said, “Leave the gun alone, sir.”

“The hell you know ‘bout my piece, bitch?”

“First off, I heard you cock the gun behind your back,” both her expression and tone hardened. “Secondly, you will not call me that again. Ever. It’s either Power Girl or ma’am. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?”

A tense moment ticked by before the man shrank from Power Girl’s stare, “Yeah. Yeah, we cool.”

She surveyed the street, slowly her head turned from side to side and her brilliant blue eyes followed suit. A few onlookers from across the street apparently remembered that they’d left something in the stove back home and hurried about their business. Her cape gave a quick dance as a trash truck drove by, kicking up dust and torn fragments of last week’s newspaper. Quietly Power Girl rose to the skies, once there was some distance between her and the ground, she kicked into overdrive lingering just around the speed of sound.


	11. Streets of Murietta Heights

“So, what do we have?” Power Girl said as soon as she entered the room.

“Hey PG,” Gena took a sip of her coffee while her eyes remained fixed on the two men on the other side of the two-way mirror. “Coffee?”

She just shook her head with  an expression that closed up on the offer, “Guess we can’t beat the answers out of them, huh?”

Gena chuckled slightly, “Oh if only it was that easy. No, they have their rights, due process and if we are to have the moral high  ground, we have to play nice, by the rules and yadda-yadda-yadda.”

Power Girl found herself a chair and sat down, her attention focused on the men beyond the mirror. It was a simple setup, three chairs, and a table. Naked brick walls, save the door and an oversized clock on one wall all basked in a cold and sterile white light. Gena told Power Girl that this was the fifth one that they’d interviewed and although he’d go away for drug possession charges, he had very little to say that would help them get closer to the source. One of the cops turned to the mirror and sighed with a heavy and exhausted frustration.

“Look, have you considered letting one of them go and I don’t know- track him back to the source?”

Gena looked over at Power Girl, she grimaced at the idea and said, “Whoever is calling the shots runs a tight ship on information. Everyone is on a strict need to know basis. Even the spots they collect the drugs and drop off the money doesn’t seem to repeat themselves.”

“Okay, so where does that leave us?”

“Playing whack-a-mole with a drug ring.”

Power Girl shot out up from her chair so fast that it tipped over, the sound of a dead plastic clash smeared itself up against the walls and ceiling. Her nostrils flared with each hot puff of air while her simmering frustration slowly bled out as she paced around the room, arms crossed over her chest. When Gena discovered that she was out of coffee, she deflated in her seat before tossing the cup in the trash. Her spine twisted and coiled like a snake from the bottom of her hips to the back of her head, every now and then a small cracking or popping sound leaped from her joints.

“You okay over there Gena?” Power Girl’s cape finally caught up with her and settled down behind her back. “You’re looking kinda… drained.”

“Yeah,” Gena squeezed out the word as she stretched, “as much as I’d like to use my awesome acting skills as a scapegoat, this kind of work does take its toll on you. The masquerade lies upon lies. Not to mention the- how do you say, scenery? Just being there, among them, their… lack of humanity, of life, of hope. That, that void just- sucks what I have out of me.”

“I guess that’s why they turn to drugs, huh? To fill that void with something, anything.” Power Girl put her hand on Gena’s shoulder, “Look, why don’t you take it easy tonight, huh? Congrats on a job well done. I’ll think of something.”

* * *

The sudden clack of the toaster sent Stinky squirming off the kitchen counter. Ted Grant kept firmly to the sidelines while Power Girl darted from one side of the kitchen to the other. His eyelids drooped, shielding his sharp steel blue eyes from the horrible mess that she left behind. The kitchen was a temple, his temple and although mess and chaos usually followed in the wake of making food,  Ted always cleaned up after himself as he went. If nothing else, it’d save him from facing a single massive mountain of dishes once the food was on the table. The loud clatter of plates, banging of closet doors and slamming of drawers was more than enough to add several more inches to his already greying temples.

“Fer  cryin ’ out loud if ya just gave me a chance I’d serve ya breakfast in bed.”

Power Girl blinked at him with big eyes, a streak of half-melted butter and strawberry jam ran across her chin. She resumed chewing her food before she finally said, “Look I appreciate the offer Ted, I really do, but I’m in a hurry.”

He was about to roll out another round of protest, though Power Girl jogged out the kitchen before he had the chance. Her foot had barely crossed over the doorstep before she took to the blue skies above. Just a hundred or so feet up in the air, Power Girl stepped up her speed, lingering just below the sound barrier until she came to a screeching halt over East Los Santos. Routine kicked in as she swiped a finger over her bracer which brought the alien tech to life. With fingers on the ready to take notes, Power Girl shifted her focus to the streets below. In her eagerness to make up for the lost time, her vision dived down far enough to read the barcode on a dented soda can. Likewise, her hearing got caught off guard when a nearby car engine roared to life.

“Ouch, okay. Easy Kara, easy,” she shook her head to disconnect from her focus, only to try it once more with a little more patience this time around.

Like the six days before, Power Girl tracked dozens of people and cars while taking notes of people's descriptions, license plate, and any other relevant information. It'd be a real pain in the ass to get all this information extracted from her bracer and into a computer, she’d already ruined about a dozen USB cables just trying to get the two techs to talk to one another. Neither Windows nor any of the five different Linux distros wanted to talk to her bracer via Bluetooth, though she had some idea of how to work around it. If she ever found the time to fiddle around with the drivers and build a Linux distro from the ground up.

Her vision zoomed in and carefully tracked a car as it left the driveway, “Hello there, where are you going to go today? Bahama West Mamas, again? Or…? Interesting. ” 

Some hours later, Power Girl stood by the printer in the Mission Row Police Station, listening with disinterest to the steady and dull rhythmic sound of a running print job. She stifled a yawn behind the back of her hand when Gena approached her, “Hey girl, got your call. What’s the big thing you’ve got going?”

“Oh, hi Gena, I’d like to have your opinion on something.”

Gena shrugged and nodded just as the final page was released from the printer. Collecting the stack of pages, Power Girl led the way to a small presentation room and settled down by the desk, “Okay look, so… for the past week or so I’ve collected a bunch of data. Initially, I just kept my eyes and ears open for what looked like Crimson or anyone talking about it. And from there I started spinning a web of my own.”

Page after page she showed Gena all the data she’d gathered; time, date, locations, names, and descriptions were all carefully laid out in an organized manner. Using pins on a nearby map, she started to build a detailed image of who was where, when and how they’d tied to the Crimson designer drug. Every now and then she included useful information such as multiple exits from a building as well as any confirmed firearms.

“Damn girl, you’ve been a busy little bee, haven’t you?” Gena’s  eyes bored into the pages in her hand.

“Thanks, though I still haven’t been able to find any way to connect these dots to the mastermind. A lot of the distribution seems to happen on the party scene, clubs and bars are the common thread in most of these people’s routines. Maybe the staff or owners are in on it, I haven’t had a chance to check.”

Gena looked up at the map for a moment, “Yeah I can see that. Similar to how Ecstasy flows around. We could bring the staff in for questioning and-”

“Look, Gena,” Power Girl rested a hand on her hip, “I don’t- I don’t think I have the time for that. I know, I know we have to take the high road and whatnot, but just take a look at what I’m suggesting here, okay?”

She tilted her head ,  “Yeah, okay.”

“My reasoning is that even if the dealers are isolated cells if we manage to take out enough of them more or less at the same time, it ought to force the mastermind's hand one way or the other.”

“Smoke ‘em out essentially,” Gena said as she undid her ponytail and shook out her hair.

Power Girl turned her face away from the map and back at Gena ,  “What do you think?”

She could see Gena run the numbers behind her eyes, her brows knitted in deep thought. After a moment Gena said, “It’s risky, but if nothing else we’ll have more people to interview. We still need the go-ahead from my superiors, but I’ll put in a good word for you PG.”

* * *

The following day Power Girl attended the briefing for the strike that the narcotics division had come up with based on her raw data. Between the overhead slides, she threw a glance or two in Gena’s direction. She stood in her uniform, complete with laryngophone, a gun strapped to her thigh, Kevlar vest and a police cap with her blonde hair sticking out the back in a sharp ponytail. Eyes upfront and with a serious, concentrated expression. Both she and Power Girl stuck to the back of the room, though one didn’t need supervision to see the tension in the room.

Every now and then one officer would whisper something to a nearby colleague. Even during these muffled exchanges their tone was professional and focused, cheesy one-liners and lame jokes would have to wait until later. Power Girl ran her hands over her naked arms, her palms brushed against the hairs who stood up at a sharp angle. Her attempts to calm her nerves through deep breaths manifested themselves as shuddered exhales and shivers down her spine. Cautiously she looked around with her eyes, her hands had imploded into pale fists that trembled with tension. It even took some effort to relax her jaw once she noticed that it was locked down shut.

“Sgt. Gena Buehler will move in here, from the north. Lance Schachter will be our eyes in the sky along with,” the lieutenant paused and looked up towards the back of the room, “Power Girl.”

A few heads turned some curious glances overbroad, bulky shoulders. Silence fought an even battle against a tender mumbling from the police officers. Some exchanged looks between themselves, a quiet look that spoke volumes even on mute. Others turned to their notes while there were a couple that either shook their heads or gave Power Girl a barely visible nod. One officer’s sharp sniff cut through the humble silence like a knife and the lieutenant carried on with the next slide.

“Delta and Bravo teams, your focus will be-” the sentence fell dead to the sudden opening of the doors right next to Power Girl.

The sudden and unexpected interruption caused a small stir in the crowd while Power Girl’s shoulders sank down. Lucy Kuo stepped in, FBI badge around her neck, gun clearly visible by her side and even a couple of rather anonymous-looking goons following her heels like faithful dogs. As Lucy walked up to the lieutenant for a quick word, Power Girl simply  hung her head and partially hid her face behind the back of her hand. 

“Good day gentlemen. Ladies,” Lucy said, “sorry for the interruption but I’m here for… there you are Power Girl. I’m sorry, but time’s up. Come along now, quietly if you’d please.”

“Look, Lucy-”

“Quietly,” Lucy  stressed, the word creaked forward like a glacier.

Gena stepped up and  raised her chin at Lucy, “ Whaddya want with PG lady?”

“Name’s special agent Lucy Kuo, I’m with the federal bureau of investigation,” Lucy’s tone remained stern and professional, “I’m under orders to escort Power Girl to Fort Zancudo. This doesn’t concern you,  Ms …?”

“Sgt. Gena Buehler,” Gena took another step forward before she put her hands on her hips, “and this does concern me, agent. We need PG to run this op. You take her away now? You’ll undo a major drug bust and I sure as hell won’t take that lying down.”

She drew in a long breath, “Sergeant, I understand your position, but this is a matter of national security and-”

“Oh, you big federal boys don’t care about the war on drugs no more?”

“Don’t tempt me, sergeant. I’m well within my rights to flush your whole career down the shitter if you get between me and Power Girl.”

Power Girl  gave a mirthless laugh in Lucy’s direction, “Look, Lucy, Lucy… why don’t you and your boys tag along? Front row seats on watching me being a good little public servant. That’s got to be worth something, right? You’ve always been just a tad too late to stop me or guide me previously. If I can’t do it right, even with you sitting on my shoulder from start to finish, I’ll come in; no fuss, no muss.”

A moment ticked by, then another before Lucy said, “Last chance Kara, don’t blow it.”

* * *

From the backseat of the car, Gena adjusted her bulletproof vest a little, using it as a distraction so she could fish out a cell phone unnoticed. Quick short downwards jabs with her eyes saw their brief moments of opportunity while her thumb pressed the buttons, navigating the clumsy menus. She got pulled forward slightly in her seat as the car stopped at a red light, a prewritten text message gleamed up at her from the display.  She squeezed her eyes shut when her thumb pressed down on the last button, a shivering breath left her lungs.

“You okay back there, Gena?”

“Y-yeah got some nerves but- I’ll manage.”

“Right on. Let’s collect ourselves some souls.”

* * *

In the skies above Murietta Heights Power Girl survived the lay of the land. It was unchanged from the week before, street pavement that had been left neglected were flanked by simple homes, as battered and worn as the hopes and dreams they housed. Occasionally she saw someone had made a defiant effort to stand against the erosion of their home as the harsh realities of modern life washed over them day in and day out. Though for all their valiant efforts, it was hard to ignore the fact that their cute curtains were hidden behind solid metal bars and a single painted wall did not outshine the remaining tattered three. 

“PG, status?” Gena’s voice came in her earpiece, crisp and clear over the dull rhythm of the pump jacks that surrounded the neighborhood. 

“I have eyes on Amarillo Vista, just another cloudy day, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Copy that, we’re coming along El Rancho Blvd.”

Power Girl squinted her eyes in the sun, “Yeah, I see you at the gas station. Starting with Fudge Lane and flush them down south, right?”

“Affirm, we’re counting on you to keep an eye out for any runners. We don’t want to lose them in the oil fields or heaven forbid the Palomino Highlands.”

A few minutes later the quiet day exploded into a sea of wailing police sirens, screeching tires and stomping boots. From up above Power Girl's eyes kept a keep track of the little dark dots as they squirmed around on the ground below like little ants. Every now and then she gave an officer a heads up that someone was trying to circle around. Aside from the stern tone and harsh language exchanged between criminals and police officers as they got rounded up, things were going rather well.

Power Girl’s gut twisted and contorted itself into a tight knot when the first gunshot sliced through the air. Quickly she turned her focus in the direction of the sound, a two-story house that the weather had stripped of all paint. Its windows were crudely barred by planks and wooden boards, the sight of the tip of several guns peeking out from the cracks sent her flying to the ground like a bolder. The ground shook, pavement cracked and car suspenders wiggled when Power Girl landed. Her hands reached out like angry talons, sinking into an officer's Kevlar and swirled him around. When the barrage of bullets spewed out, she already had the officer in a firm bear hug and her knee was halfway down to the pavement.

Each shot fired stung and burned, her bright red cape and broad back made her an ideal shooting target. Her  chest rose and fell with rapid breaths , hissing through clenched teeth.  Tears shone in her eyes, muddling up the face of the officer she was protecting. Scared or angry? She couldn’t tell, but he was alive and in those tense few seconds that’s all that mattered. Fellow officers got in position and returned  fire, the angry roar of a pump-action shotgun opened up a pause in the shootout. Power Girl seized the moment, kicking off like a rocket and slamming on the breaks as soon as they were on the other side of a police cruiser. 

Her arms were a pair of trembling noodles as she finally released the officer from her embrace. Over her shoulder she took in the sight of the house, hands imploded into firm, pale fists. Again, she kicked off, hard enough to rattle nearby car alarms, their cries for attention drowned in the sudden crash and splinter of wood. An awkward pause seems to drag its slithery presence across the  seconds. The near-blackness of the interior gradually let go of its secrets as Power Girl’s eyes adjusted. To either side, she saw armed men, dumbstruck and flabbergasted. Both sides rebooted their brains about the same time, as their guns came about as she moved in on them. Clothes and guns, those were the only things Power Girl’s fingers sunk into like fangs before pumping them full with raw, undisputed power. Grown men were slammed into the ground like hollow mannequins and every gun she grasped got deformed like sponges. 

“Good God in Heaven…” one of the officers said as he took in the sight of the aftermath of Power Girl’s rampage.

* * *

Lance Schachter kept a close eye on the situation from his police helicopter. While things had gone rather smooth as they hit Fudge Lane, an intense shootout turned out as the police pressed through Amarillo Vista. He wasn’t quite sure how or why, but the shootout stopped fairly quickly which was odd considering that the shooters had a pretty sweet spot for themselves. At least as far as Lance could tell. Shortly after the shooting stopped, the backside of the house vomited out a good dozen people, running for their dear lives.

Predictably they darted across the highway and into the oil fields, the scattered buildings, oil tanks, and crude terrain made it ideal to lose anyone who was hot on your heels. That is, assuming they were also stuck on ground level. From a bird’s eye view, with a host of cameras and sensors at his disposal, each and every one of them stood out like a sore thumb. “Ah, those dumb pricks… high as a kite and not thinking straight,” Lance shook his head and brought the helicopter around. “This is air support, we have them heading east.”

Without warning sharp cracks flashed into view on the window, “Aw, Jesus! Taking fire, taking fire!”

His hand clamped hard around the joystick, pushing it to one side while he leaned over, away from the piercing bullets. Metallic clashes tapped into his ears over the running engine before a couple of deep, hollow thuds made Lance blood run cold. With the joystick stuttering to obey his commands, Lance twisted in his seat to see where he was hit. He was turning just as he originally wanted, though now he was unable to straighten the turnout. A couple of alarms sprung to life, flashing and beeping at a steady and urgent rhythm. 

“I know, I know! C’mon, c’mon baby. Get daddy down, nice and-”

Lance rattled around in his  seat, the edges of his seatbelt sliced into his skin as the spinning came to an abrupt halt. Engine output was still sinking and the chopper felt so alien when he tried to steer it. If he didn’t know any better, Lance would say it almost felt like a giant hand had taken hold of his tail and held it firmly in place. It showed some cooperation, or they were thinking the same thing as the helicopter hobbled downwards to a car scrapyard.  He massaged the back of his neck , trying with mixed results to calm down his racing heart. A few switches were flipped and the engines started to power down. Power Girl came into view, hair and cape fluttering in the air. She planted a flat palm on his side window a few times,  gesticulated for some sort of confirmation of whether he was okay or not. Through the kicked-up dust and gusts of wind, he gave her a smile and a thumb up. 

* * *

Gena pressed inwards into a house, both hands firmly holding on to her gun. Carefully, yet efficiently she checked her corners for each room and hallway she entered. If the exterior of the house said a thing or two about lost dreams, the interior was a half-eaten dream left to rot. Whoever lived here  found refuge somewhere where the trash and water-damaged walls didn’t bother them. The closed-in stench of piss and milk gone bad hung lazily in the air like a thick smog. In every other room, sunlight managed to sneak in; sometimes through cracks in the curtains, other places through bullet holes in the walls. A wet squish squealed out from underneath Gena’s shoe as she crossed over a carpet.  She jerked away her foot on reflex before collecting herself and regaining her focus. 

A shadowy movement got caught in the corner of her eye, and she spun around, gun ready.  He shrank away from the back door, hands raised. Gena stiffened, in the palm of his hand his dirty fingers held on to a ziplock bag of crimson. He huddled in the corner, whether he was shaking from fear or from whatever he had flowing through his system was hard to tell in the dimly lit room. She inched  forward , fingers reluctantly peeled away from the grip of her gun.  His eyes gleamed with a faint hope at the sight, they were on the same path, just on opposite sides of the gun.

With a quick little flick, the bag landed on the floor in front of her. They exchanged  looks, his head tilted slightly towards the door before giving a subtle nod towards the bag. Gena studied the man, the bag, and the door. Behind them, they could hear the stomping of feet drawing closer. Their small little moment was fatally bleeding seconds.  Her lower lip trembled before getting pinned down by her teeth so hard it almost drew blood.  Gena’s expression closed up, gun dived down to the floor and her hand snatched up the bag. By the time she raised her head, the man was gone.

“Clear!” she said over her shoulder.

* * *

Lucy rubbed her shoulder underneath her bulletproof west, squinting up at the sky. The occasional blue spot managed to sneak through gaps in the clouds above, though she couldn’t spot whom she was looking for. Navigating between police officers, dogs, and handcuffed criminals, Lucy made it back to her car and picked up the radio, “Power Girl, do you read?”

“Now that the tinnitus is finally starting to clear up? Loud and clear agent Kuo, loud and clear.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up , “Awfully formal today, aren’t we?”

“I’m on the job. Look, if you want to banter can we do it later?”

“Fair enough,” Lucy surveyed her surroundings, “just wanted you to know that you’ve done well today. I’ll give my superiors a detailed report, something I’m sure these fine officers are willing to vouch for. You’ve taken a giant leap in the right direction Power Girl. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Power Girl’s voice came out loud and clear, from behind rather than out of the radio speaker. “That means a lot to me.”

She hovered in the air, just a small foot above the roof of Lucy’s car. When a passing breeze took hold of her cape, about half a dozen bullet holes could be seen through the fluttering fabric. Power Girl tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, eyes distant as if looking across a sea of thoughts. Her frame was in a limbo between rigid vigilance and relived relaxation, an odd combo which was even more bizarre thanks to how effortlessly she floated in the air.

“Listen,” Lucy smoothed down her shirt when the west came off, “I don’t want to give you too high hopes. I doubt that this is enough to get you completely off the hook, but it goes a long way.”

“So… keep at it?”

“Keep at it.”

Power Girl rolled her shoulders a few times before she took off, up, up and away. High up, behind the carpet of clouds, Lucy heard a muffled sonic boom, “Show off.”


	12. When the drugs don’t work

Soft and cold clouds parted, below the thick fabric Power Girl could see the ocean waves rolling tirelessly towards the shores. Her ears caught wind of a surfer coming up for air, mouth wide and lunge starved for a fresh batch. She rolled around a few times, smiling to herself. There was something about surfers, their tanned skin, and trained bodies. Hours upon hours of play wrestling with the sea had that kind of an effect on men. Even if she removed the obvious shallow appeal from the equation, Power Girl was still left with the culture and community that came with surfing. Just as the waves molded their bodies, the vast ocean shaped their minds.

She raised her chin, “Where are you?”

Her speed dropped, gravity coiled around her legs and waist until she drew a gentle, yet firm line. In the stillness, without any distractions, the pain started to trickle through her system. A series of throbbing, drilling sensations dug into her back and nagged for attention. Power Girl hugged herself, her vibrant blue eyes hid behind eyelids, hurt still pulsated through her veins and muscles. Wave after wave, short and sharp rolled from her injuries over her nerves, only to collide in her mind.

“Captain Sato, do you read?”

“Ma’am, we read you loud and clear. What is it?”

Power Girl drew in a long breath, “Just- look, I’m having some problems finding the yacht in these clouds. Can you guys see me on the radar?”

“One-moment ma’am,” the radio went dead for a moment before Captain Sato was back again. “You’re right on target ma’am, come on down and you’ll see us.”

Well down on the helideck, Power Girl massaged the back of her neck, grimacing and groaning as she did. Just a few steps behind her was Kimiyo Hoshi, Power Girl’s shot up cape resting over one of her arms. The two women walked in silence all the way to the master bedroom. Stinky had curled himself into an orange donut of fluff on a chair, favoring sweet dreams over granting Power Girl the light of day. She raked her fingers through her blonde hair, a short pause in her gesture suggested pain found a shortcut to her mind.

Without a word, Kimiyo pulled down the zipper on Power Girl’s suit. The thick fabric parted as she leaned forward, shedding it like a second skin. Power Girl’s broad, muscular back was littered with bruises, dark and faint, sunburned red and shades of purple, “Stars and stone, I need one steaming hot, long bath.”

“Of course. Allow me,” Kimiyo said as she headed for the bathroom. “Will you be alright?”

Power Girl flumped down on her bed, her suit half down past her knees, “I’ll live Kimiyo, I’ll live.”

“It’s just- I’ve ever seen you like this, so… so…” Kimiyo leaned over and started to fill the bathtub

“Injured, drained, weak or all of the above?”

“…Vulnerable.”

Power Girl looked up at the ceiling, “Look like I said, I’ll live. Because I'm a survivor, I'm not gon' give up, I'm not gon' stop, I'm gon' work harder.”

“Please stop singing Destiny’s Child songs out of tune, you’re upsetting the cat.”

* * *

The following days Karen spent on her yacht, catching some sunlight while she tended to StarrWARE business. Slowly, yet surely, she slugged her way through a swamp of e-mails that had piled up in her absence. Not the worst way to spend her R &R, multitasking helped Karen get the most out of her days, even if she wasn’t out there kicking ass and taking names. She pinched the bridge of her nose, searching for that annoyingly elusive phrase that had been on the tip of her tongue just a short moment ago when Captain Sato came over, “A penny for your thoughts, ma’am.”

“Wait- we would like to- no that’s not right. It’d be our pleasure? Ugh, forget it,” Karen slapped her laptop shut and tucked it away. “Cap’n.”

“How are you feeling, ma’am?”

Karen flexed her arm, muscles tensed and bulged underneath a coat of sunscreen and sweat, “Like I’m made of stainless steel and raw sex appeal. Look at that, just look at it.”

“I see,” both Captain Sato’s expression and tone were deadpan.

“Do you even know how to smile, Cap'n? Or is this Spock routine all you’ve got?”

“Business is booming as well, I take it?”

She crossed her legs, “Why yes Captain, StarrWARE is doing just fine. Perhaps not as streamlined or efficient as I’d like, but- the wheels are turning.”

“Any ideas on what steps you should take to grease the wheels, ma’am?”

“I’ve my eyes on an option, yes,” Karen rested her chin on her palm. “After hours cleaning up old and canceled meeting requests, swimming upstream on a river of e-mails, I’ve finally found the weakest link in the chain. Me.”

Captain Sato clasped her hands behind her back, her head took a barely visible curious tilt as she said, “Pardon?”

“The main reason why things are jerking along is that I’m not there. I address issues and make decisions, yes. And I do a mighty fine job at that. But, I do so in bulk. What I need is someone at the office from nine to five, five days a week. Someone that can take care of the day to day issues.”

“Well they say knowledge is half the battle,” Captain Sato said. “Do you have a candidate in mind?”

Karen’s eyebrows waggled as a clever looking grin trekked over her face, “Oh, do I ever cap’n. Do I ever. Look at this, Ophelia Day. Assertive, smart, skilled and a bit of a social butterfly to boot.”

“I must say ma’am-” her words stopped as Karen’s phone started to vibrate for attention.

“Oh, that’s Lucy’s number. Hi, hey- yeah? Uh, can you hear me? You’re sort of breaking up, Lucy.”

The connection cleared up and Lucy’s voice came through crisp and clear, “I said I just wanted you to know that the DEA and the police consider the bust on Murietta Heights to be a success. They expect that the drug ring is unlikely to recover before they have a fix on the masterminds. Listen, I’m on my way to hand over my own report to my superiors now. I’ll keep you posted, okay?”

* * *

A soothing mechanical hum embraced the elevator which carried Lucy up the FBI headquarters. She picked a piece of lint from her sleeve; error margins were practically gone at this point. Everything had to be picture perfect or things would crash and fall. The doors parted with a muffled clunk shortly after a high-pitched ding asked for any and all passenger’s attention. Like so many times before, Lucy navigated through the hallway past fellow agents and staff members alike. The dull, neutral colors of the office melted out of focus as she set her eyes on her destination. Voices got reduced to a string of deep, slow mumbles.

“Gentlemen,” she said with a slight nod before she closed the briefing room door behind her.

It was the same room with the same people, circumstances were worse yet salvageable. One drummed his fingers on the table and another leaned back in his chair, a lazy and bored expression stuck to his face like thick mud. She smoothed down her skirt, a polite smile with uncomfortable undertones crossed her lipstick covered lips while she prepared her report at the end of the table. All eyes were on her, watching without seeing. The blinds came down and the lights dimmed, behind Lucy the wall mounted monitor faded to life, basking her indifferent audience with a pale shade of blue.

“Good day sirs, I’ll now present my report regarding the drug bust of Murietta Heights, where Kara Zor-L participated,” she said to the silent silhouettes, her tone crisp and professional.

Lucy went through the timeline of the crimson case, referencing the patrol officers who were on site when Power Girl first got introduced to the designer drug. She was quick to point out that Power Girl choose to pursue the case based on advice she’d sought out from her law enforcement colleagues. While it could be considered critique worthy that she went for a case that would grant her much press if successful, Lucy also stressed that this was precise because of the situation Power Girl found herself in. It was, if nothing else, an example of Power Girl learning and correcting her course, all on her own violation.

The partnership Power Girl formed with Sgt. Gena Buehler, the undercover narcotics detective was brought forward as a prime example of her willingness to work as part of a team. She’d be the Ying to Sgt. Buehler’s yang, two sides of the same coin. A single, powerful support unit for someone that was deep undercover, collecting intelligence. Power Girl’s quick learning was also brought to Lucy’s superior’s attention, as evidence of her ability to take the fundamentals that Sgt. Buehler taught her to the next level. Lucy presented the detailed and extensive data Power Girl collected on her own, mapping out the crimson drug network within the city limits.

“Now, for the operation itself-” Lucy clicked the remote and the slide on the monitor changed yet again.

“Pardon the interruption agent Kuo,” one of the men said, “but I have a quick question.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Why didn’t you bring the alien in as instructed?” His question rippled through the room, stirring the others back to life as the shifted in their chairs and brought their attention into focus.

“Well, sir-”

“Was it… what is that my wife keeps calling it? Women's intuition?” A light chuckle and muffled comments passed among the men, silhouetted heads bobbed and shook lightly.

“Actually sir, it was based on my impr-”

“Kind of bold to let such a powerful creature loose on the populace based on just a hunch, now isn’t it agent Kuo?” another man chimed in.

“Feelings versus facts, inexperienced agents often get the two muddled together. Johnson, you know that it takes years to develop a mind for this sort of thing.”

Johnson rocked back and forth in his chair slightly, “Does that thing have some way to influence minds? Do we know?”

“No, the medical files that Dr. Cross was so kind to provide to us didn’t mention any of it,” a third man said as he tapped his fingers on the table. “Our initial concern was that the creature might feel threatened by a male agent. There was also the risk of them getting intimate. God help us if that thing decides to build a nest and lay eggs.”

“Intimate? With that thing? Sydney, have you seen the pictures? It’s a beast. It wouldn’t have to get intimate, it’d just take what it wanted. Heaven have mercy on the poor soul who’d suffer through that,” a fourth man had a shudder run down from his shoulders through his spine.

She forced a smile as the men discussed among themselves, allowing them a moment. As it passed, a muscle in her jaw twitched and Lucy cleared her throat, “Sirs? I’m sure you already have the rest of the day booked with meetings and briefings, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue.”

The men simmered down, a few exchanged hushed whispers and made quick notes in the dim light before once more looking at Lucy without seeing. She went through the operation itself, highlighting Power Girl’s willingness to put herself in harm’s way to keep others safe, as well as her somewhat reckless dive into a confrontation. The highlight of the operation was without a doubt the fact that Power Girl saved the life of a police helicopter pilot, along with any others that might have been caught in the crash.

“And just what do we know about this designer drug, agent Kuo?” Sydney said, blinking as the lights came back on and the blinds slowly trekked upwards.

Lucy paused collecting her things before she said, “According to testimonies, crimson is just as addictive as meth and leads to much longer highs. However, despite the fact that the demand for crimson is very high, its street price seems to be kept quite low, suggesting that the process for making crimson is much more efficient than conventional meth. A detailed lab analysis is in the works, but the results will not be in for another two months.”

* * *

For the fourth time, Gena opened her closet and pushed some a few books aside. Her mouth set in a hard line, fingers curled backward like withering flowers. The bag of crimson was still there, silent and patient in its presence. She gnashed her teeth, averted her eyes and fumbled the books back in place. As her feet carried her away from the closet, Gena’s arms wrapped around her, rubbing herself for warmth. Her apartment was so small now, narrow and even titled. Every step away from the closet was as if she was walking up an increasingly steeper hill. Crude fishing hooks and anchors latched on to her, sunk into her mind and muscles. They tugged and pulled her closer still to the closet.

“I’m okay. You got this girl, just- deep breaths,” Gena stuck her nose in the air and took in a deep breath.

As air filled her lungs, the very walls and ceiling of Gena’s apartment appeared to bend and implode inwards. From every angle, she got pushed and shoved away from what she needed and closer towards what she wanted. She held her breath, endured the claustrophobia and exhaled. The room bellowed outwards, expanding like a balloon, granting Gena some much-needed space. It was a short-lived victory, as the walls wobbled back to their usual self. Gena was still trapped inside with a bag of crimson.

Somewhere between settling in with a normal breath and collecting her thoughts, Gena’s body switched to cruise control. She came to with her hand planted on the coffee table, the bag of crimson underneath it. The sight of the red rocks, just a thin membrane of transparent plastic between her and pleasures untold was enough for Gena to catch herself breathing hard. Her body shook, trembles rocked through her limbs and shoulders like an earthquake. Gena jolted upright, a starved hunger glowed in her eyes while she nibbled on her bottom lip.

“No, no. I will not. In fact, I’ll take you to the bathroom and-” a sudden and loud knock on her door made Gena jolt, hands snapping after the bag as it bounced around in the air.

Gena scrambled, the inside of her skin was crawling with thousands upon thousands of spiders, who gleefully played on every nerve in her body. The crimson bag got shoved away, deeper than ever before in the closet. Books were stacked up around it, not to seamlessly blend into the shelf as if not drawing attention to themselves, but rather hastily as if deliberately hiding something. Lastly, the closet door was slammed shut. Gena’s hands were trembling, her heart racing and a drop of sweat slithered down her spine as she made her way to the front door. As her hand pocketed the door handle, she bit down hard to keep her teeth from rattling like machinegun fire.

“Hi, there babe, Well Stacked Pizza here. One Double D-Luxe for a- uh, Ge- Gena Buehler?”

* * *

Ryan was a young man on the edge and couldn’t really hide it. He wandered between expensive lab equipment, pushing down his dark sunglasses to read instrument readings every now and then. Just as he was writing down some data, a door banged open loudly, the unforgiving summer sun of the Grand Senora Desert stabbed its rays into the room before the door slammed shut. Ryan kneaded his shoulder, flinching slightly at the pain while he lazily waited for his visitor to step up closer, “What the devil brings you out here?”

“Boss, it’s bad,” the visitor said.

“Uh-huh,” Ryan turned his attention back to his notes and instruments. “If it’s Jackie’s latest love triangle drama, again, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Wha? No, no, no. Boss, boss we got hit. Cops came at us like a fucking army man.”

Ryan paused, frowning, “They hit you, Wade? Out in Murietta Heights?”

Wade nodded, “We didn’t have a chance boss. They got all of us.”

“The fuck you got out then, huh?!” Ryan slapped his hand behind Wade’s neck and pulled him close.

“So-some cop chick let me go. Gave her ma bag of crimson, fair trade.”

Ryan gave mirthless laugh, patting Wade’s cheek. There were tremors in his hands akin to a man sixty years Ryan’s senior, “Oh Wade, Wade, Wade… You- you weren’t followed, were you? Were you?!”

“No boss, I- I rode a fucking bike over here to ditch the cops.”

Silence, save the humming of the equipment. Ryan raked his fingers through his hair, a thin coat of gel rubbed off onto his hand. He paced around, tossing the clipboard and pen aside. The expensive and fashionable clothes hung off him like a scarecrow’s rags. Ryan spun around on his heels, an accusing finger pointed at Wade, “I thought we had someone on the inside!”

“Guess not,” Wade shrugged, “unless that cop chick was the one. Some of the boys were ready for them though, dug their heels into ol’ man Zeke’s house. Not that it mattered though.”

“Of course, Zeke’s place. Yeah, that’s great Wade, really great. They got the shipment out, right?”

“Nah, there was this… I dunno man, a fucking superhero that just- she fucking floored them, man. Just boom, boom, boom. If it hadn’t been for her, maybe they could’ve saved some of the stashes.”

Ryan tugged at his shirt collar, “Just great. Okay, head back to town, stay low. I’ll work something out here for the next batch. It’s almost done, but I’m not sending shit until the logistics are in order.”

Outside the sun scratched and clawed at Ryan’s skin, even behind his sunglasses he squinted his eyes and raised a hand to block out the rays. With his eyes adjusting, he shuffled over to his car and fished the keys out of his pocket. The car vomited out a thick cloud of warm air at his face as he opened the door, a pinching heat seeped through his pants as he sat down behind the wheel. It wasn’t easy to steer the car with a driving wheel that was so hot it felt like it’d cook the flesh of Ryan’s fingers, but he managed somehow. A short drive down Joshua Road took him towards the Alamo Sea where his destination waited.

Sunset Horses was resting on the shores of Alamo Sea and it was a sorry lot of land. Wrecked cars that were rusted beyond reconnection, scattered furniture that had spent one month too many days outside in the weather and of course trailers that had seen better days some two decades ago. Ryan drove past the busted motel sign, where someone had crudely sprayed bikers only with big fat letters. Looking to either side of the dusty, battered road it became apparent that the only vehicles that even had a remote chance of starting were in fact bikes. Ryan found himself a little spot and parked his car, gambling that no one would run up to him and shove a sawed-off shotgun up his nose.

A dirty American flag hung between two palm trees, either corner gently tugging at the ropes while a soft breeze passed through. Dry sand kicked up a little dust around Ryan’s shoes for every step he took. Most people paid him no attention, they were either drinking or working on their bikes. Sometimes both. Occasionally a roaring laughter would club through the silence with all the style and grace of a hammer, but beyond that, it was just the washing of waves and rustling palm leaves that kept silence away. Out of the residents, Ryan landed his sights on a woman who kept to herself, working on a small barbeque.

“Good day there,” he said as he approached the woman.

She was a little short but made up for it in attitude. Ryan quickly got a nasty feeling just half of a wrong word would leave him in for a world of hurt. The woman dressed with function, whatever that function might be. From the looks of it, she was stuck in limbo between lazy Sunday casuals and let’s ride the highway to hell. She rose from her seat, “What you want?”

“Help to solve a problem I’ve got,” Ryan said, putting his best game face on.

She gave him a once-over, “’kay, what kinda problem?”

“Distribution, but…” he leaned closer, “I don’t want it to get lost along the way.”

The woman helped herself with some corn, “What’s in it for me?”

“Money,” Ryan shrugged. “I’ll give you a cut of the profits.”

“Uh-huh. What are you selling?”

He patted down on his pants a few times before he fished out a bag of crimson.

“Crappy ass meth?” she scoffed and shook her head. “Get out of my face pretty boy, learn how to shave properly.”

“It sells easily, will shove that normal meth off the streets and it is easier to make.”

A burger got flipped over to the other side, an angry hiss leaped from the barbeque. The woman seemed to be entertaining the thought of his proposal, though she remained quiet and was more preoccupied with tending to her grill than giving a straight answer, “Alright. So where do you need this stuff dropped off?”

“I figure Rancho and Davis,” Ryan said pocketing the crimson. “Cops hit us hard in Murietta Heights a few days back and we’ll need some time to get boots on the ground. Plus, obviously, we want the heat to drop.”

The woman nodded, “Yet if you wait too long…”

“We lose money.”

“Rancho and Davis, huh?” she folded her arms. “What about Vagos? The Ballas? Can’t imagine either of those would be happy for a pretty boy like you wiggle in on their turf. And don’t get me started on the Aztecas.”

Ryan held out his arms, “High risks, and high reward. You don’t look like the type that’d enjoy milk runs or flipping burgers for long anyway. We’ll stock it there; the actual selling would be further north.”

“Whores and doctors,” the woman gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, and strippers and clients to I guess.”

“So, you in?”

“The bust in Murietta… anything leads to you?”

Ryan shrugged, “No bridges that I can’t burn. Start fresh.”

She thought it over for a moment, “Fuck it, we’re in. Name’s Bridgette.”

* * *

Faded bruises still dotted Karen’s skin as her chin sailed upwards yet another time. Sweat dripped from her nose and a soft throbbing pain jabbed at one of her shoulders when she came down. Regardless, as soon as the tip of her shoe touched the ground, Karen hoisted herself through another pull-up, holding back just enough to make sure her muscles got an actual workout without piggybacking off her super-strength. The early summer sun was picking up both brightness and heat, its rays poked at her skin like tiny little hot needles.

Karen slumped and started on new pull up when she sensed her body shift, the aching pain in her arms left like dew under the sun and it was as if she was light as a feather. Rather than pressing on, she faked a slight struggle before dropping down. A few spectators who stood just outside the fenced-in area of the gym applauded while a couple of camera shutters clattered. She gave them a cheerful smile and swiped off sweat from her face when she spotted someone familiar in on the opposite side of the gym. With the towel around her neck, Karen approached Vernon, “Hi, you haven’t returned my calls.”

“Kinda makes sense, considering I have nothing to say to you,” Vernon spoke without looking at her.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, “Look, Vernon. Last time we spoke, I- I was out of line. I’d still like to give it another try.”

“Try what?”

“Us. You, me and I don’t know, a bottle of wine or something. Work out how to juggle being together while at the same time- I don’t know, allow one another to be their own person.”

His lips drew back in a snarl, “That didn't happen.”

Karen’s mouth fell open, “Okay… look, I’m pretty sure you wanted me to give up my job so that I could spend more time with you and support your passion.”

Vernon picked up some dumbbells and started curling, “It wasn't that bad babe.”

“Uh… you see, it ended with me shouting at you over the phone,” her expression closed up, “and you haven’t accepted my apology, nor did you return any of my calls.”

“Baby… That's not a big deal. It takes a special kind of woman to keep up with Vartox. You just didn’t cut it and now you want a second chance, knowing what you’ve missed out on. It’s not my fault that you’re slow in the head.”

Karen’s expression hardened, her hands tensed up and the fabric of her towel groaned under the strain, “I’d punch you hard enough to make your teeth rattle like a slot machine, but you know what Vernon? You’re not worth it.”

“Whoa, whoa, babe, babe…” for the first time Vernon looked at her, yet even then he avoided her eyes, “I didn't mean it. Geez, what are you doing out here if aunt red is visiting?”

She scoffed and walked away, snatching her bag on the way out with an angry yank. Every step she took out of the gym reeked of simmering wrath that was just waiting for some piss poor excuse to cut loose. A good walk down the beach later and Karen allowed herself one last glance over her shoulder, her vision shifted and focused on the gym and her hearing follow suit. Vernon had apparently found himself another pretty bird that had a dreamy look on her face, dazzled by his impressive physique no doubt.

“Ah don’t worry about that bitch babe, she deserved it. Every word of it,” he told her.

A muscle in her jaw twitched, extended her middle finger toward him and carried on walking. The simmering wrath in her steps died down and an odd mix of pride and relief started to flow through Karen’s stride.


	13. The Lost

Rumbling motorcycle engines pushed and shoved away the silence of the late evening. Golden amber sunlight painted the side of the meth lab while sharp and increasingly longer shadows cut over the ground. Bridgette killed her engine; her three followers did the same. She looked over her shoulder and nudged with her head. Silently the drivers dismounted and followed her inside. Just past the entrance door, they found a decent stack of bags of barbeque coal. Lucas, one of the other drivers, tried the next door only to find it locked. Bridgette looked around, there was nothing else but naked walls in the tiny room. James, a big, imposing and intense biker picked up one of the bags.

“We moving coal now, Bridge?” he said, shifting the weight around in his arms.

Marcus, the third and final biker said, “Probably packed like this to avoid raising any eyebrows if we get stopped by the cops.”

Bridgette nodded, “Load ‘em up.”

“Whatever you say, Bridge. I’m not the brains of this operation.”

They moved quickly and efficiently, the side bags on their bikes could only hold one coal bag each but that was enough. Once settled in, Bridgette led the group out on the road. Marcus stayed close behind her, with James in the middle and Lucas bringing up the rear. They started off Joshua Road and followed Senora Road all the way down to Elgin Avenue without incident. The sun was lost behind the city skylines and whatever early stars twinkled in the night sky were swallowed by the street lights. Fresh, free running air got replaced by the clogged-up smells and smog of the big city. Although the rumbling of their engines was a constant, it was a comfortable sound. However, the soundscape of the big city strangled the soothing rumble.

Turning left on Integrity Way, The Lost cruised down Little Bighorn Avenue, making a few quick stops to drop off their goods. The bulk of their delivery was in Rancho and with the last bag dropped off, Bridgette and her cousins made a stop by the Vanilla Unicorn club after much nagging from James. Plus, it’d been a while since they were in town and a strip club was as good place as any to get the latest news. They settled in a quiet corner of the club, or as quiet as one could get in such an establishment, ordered some drinks and snacks.

“Kinda boring job, wasn’t it?” James said.

Lucas shrugged, “Money is money, so I’m not complaining.”

“Yeah but, we ain’t the fucking postal serviceman.”

Bridgette’s glass hit the table hard enough to get their attention, “Shit will probably hit the fan once the goods make it out on the streets. Then you’ll get all the high-octane fuel action you’d ever want and then some.”

“About that,” Marcus said behind a handful of peanuts. “You guys read the paper?”

James scoffed, “No.”

“Well, I read this piece, alright?” he dusted off salt from his hands. “Apparently there’s a new sheriff in town and she’s not your run of the mill cop.”

“You’re thinking about this costumed lady,” Bridgette went poker-faced behind her glass.

“Ah great, what’s that flying bimbo gonna do to us? Flash her tits at us?” James plastered a smile on his face that left as soon as Bridgette kicked his foot from under the table. “Owh, what the hell Bridge?”

“I dunno man, it’s just- cops we can deal with. Gangsters, wannabes or legit we can scare off, bust some kneecaps or whatever,” Marcus leaned closer. “This lady though? Bulletproof, strong as a fucking bull and she shoots fucking lasers outta her eyes man.”

Lucas leaned back in his chair, “Well, what are the odds of us running into her? She doesn’t sound like the patrolling type and we’re mobile as fuck, right? Besides, it wouldn’t surprise me if all those stories are cooked up and exaggerated, even down to the costume.”

“Even so, there’s probably a grain of truth in them,” Bridgette said.

Lucas gesticulated something vague and indifferent with his hands before James said, “Yeah but, it’s just a grain Bridge. Marcus’ just his usual worry-some self, I won’t lose any sleep over it.”

* * *

True to Bridgette’s prediction, the Vagos quickly got wind of the new competing drug and a few days later the blame was pinned down on the Lost. Apparently, Ryan’s new street crew were a bunch of amateurs and wannabe gangsters that spewed out what little they knew as fast as their tongues would allow once caught. That’s what Marcus had told them once he got back from a short little drive around East Vinewood and La Mesa. Bridgette pinched the bridge of her nose at the news, the only good news was that they didn’t get caught by the cops. “Alright guys, let’s keep our heads low and skip town,” she said putting on her leather jacket.

“The Hell Bridge? Are we running now? Like a bunch of little girl scouts?” James said as he slammed his hand on the table, ruining the poker game he and Lucas had going.

“Jim shut the fuck up or I’ll swear to fucking God that-” her hands squeezed into fists and she’d be all over James had not Marcus stepped in between them.

“Okay, okay. Chill you two, just… chill,” Marcus said before Bridgette gave a dismissive wave of her hand and walked away. “Now Jim, we’re not a bunch of sissy bitches alright? Bridgette just figured it is better for us to keep this Ryan fellow up to date. Clearly, there are issues that need to be resolved, okay?”

“Sounds a hell of a lot like running away like a bunch of pre-teen pussies to me,” James said as he threw his hands in the air.

“Yeah, well sitting in this clubhouse until shrooms start growing outta your ass ain’t much better, now is it, Jim?” Bridgette shot back.

The clubhouse fell silent, through the blinds creaks of sunlight sliced into the dimly lit room. Old, faithful planks on the floor creaked as Marcus shifted his weight from one foot to the other, slowly relaxing as tension bled out. Yesteryears cigarettes hung in the air, the smell had seeped into the walls and furniture long before any one of them was even born. Bridgette paced around restlessly, her hands shoved in her pockets. Her eyes drifted from the lazy bar, over the walls that held up so many frame photos of members long since gone and worn posters of shitty bands and movies. “Besides Ryan might have the next batch ready for shipping anyways,” Bridgette finally said as she turned to face her cousins.

Outside the gang mounted their Hexer bikes and was about to leave the yard in front of their clubhouse when they spotted one of the Vagos' modified Mananas across the street. The lower lip, headlight grilles, seven fives lowrider wheels, arch flames, painted and chrome fender skirts gave it away. James had a big grin on his face, while Lucas just looked down and shook his head. He turned to Bridgette for instructions, “How do you want to play this?”

“Crack some skulls I say,” James said. “The Almighty Forgives, The Lost don't.”

“They haven’t crossed us yet,” Marcus pointed out.

“Suck my nuts, they will at some point. Might as well get first blood.”

Bridgette looked over her shoulder, “Mark is right Jim; we have no beef with them yet. Yeah, they’ve gotten some of Ryan’s boys, but those shitty kids aren’t Lost. If or when they start a fight, we’ll rain fire and brimstone on their sorry Mexican asses, but until then we keep it cool.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James squinted in the sunlight, rearing his engine and driving off. Bridgette and the others followed close behind.

* * *

It was payday at StarrWARE and as a social event the employees along with Karen hit Tequi-la-la up in West Vinewood. While Karen had a couple of reasons to celebrate and enjoy herself, there was a strained stiffness in her smile and her laughter didn’t come out as loud or genuine as it otherwise would. The crowd outside of her staff mingled primarily with guys that suggested like the night would end in a cockfight, Karen could tell that it'd be going down at one point or another. At the bar, Karen helped herself with six shots just too really hit the ground running, and that's when dickhead number one put his hands on her.

“Look, you don't really want to mess with me tonight,” she said smacking down the last shot glass to make her point.

“Aw babe, babe why so tense?” his fingers slithered over her shoulders in what she assumed was a sleazy attempt at a massage. “How are you tonight, beautiful?”

“I was fine before you walked into my life,” she said as she swatted away his hands like a pair of annoying insects. “Keep your drink just- It's just you and your hand tonight pal.”

Midnight, the live band called it the night and the early hints of this year’s summer hits were playing over the speakers instead. By now Karen was drunk and had very few fucks to give. Somewhere between two or three ice cold Dr. Peppers and a few toilet breaks, she’d drifted away from her employees and ended up by herself on the dancefloor. She kept doing her own thing, letting the rhythm and flow of the song dictate the movements of her own body. It shifted, twisted and bent with a sense of frustrated invitation. Had Karen not been in such an intoxicated state, she might have been more aware of how she looked from an outside perspective.

“Don't touch,” her hand slapped at another hand that felt a tad too bold for her liking.

Dickhead number something or another, Karen had honestly lost count by this point, wiggled in front of her. His face was all drunken smiles and heated blush, a wave sweat, and cheap aftershave washed over Karen’s face as he got close to say something into her ear over the loud music. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, her flat palm found his hairy chest and shoved him a firm arm’s length away, “Back up.”

Some other fellow, the tall grizzly bear type cupped her thigs in his big hands and got her hips to sway in sync with his own. He pressed and rubbed himself up against her butt, leaned down and painted the side of her neck with kisses. They were light, though his warm breath and facial hair were distractingly annoying. He said one thing or another in her ear, probably some line that he’d either used a thousand times before or some original slur that in his drunken mind was more than enough to make Karen go splash.

Karen reached up and grabbed him by the hair hard enough to make him know she seriously wasn’t in the mood, “Look, it's just not happening. I'm not here for your entertainment, you don't really want to mess with me tonight. You can say what you want to your boyfriends. Just let me have my fun tonight, alright?”

Between a couple of tunes, Karen swayed and slightly staggered towards the bar. The brain was sloshing around in her skull and her body wanted to lean one way while the room as a whole seemed to shift the opposite way like a cruise ship in rough seas. Her fingers latched on to the bar counter as soon as it was within reach and she tilted her head to the side, puzzled as to why the wood didn’t shatter in her hands. A silly drunk giggle escaped her once she realized she’d drained all of her stored-up energy so she could style herself up for tonight.

A couple of her staff wished her a good night, or at least they tried between the love-struck snuggling they were engaged in. Getting dressed was so counter-intuitive when the caveman part of your brain insisted on unrestricted access to another person’s body. Karen smiled and gave the man a pervy thumbs up. Cupping a big glass of ice water with both hands, she spotted a group of friends checking her out from across the room. After a small debate among themselves, one of them stood up and straightened his shirt and hair before approaching Karen.

“If this bar is a meat market, you must be the prime rib!”

She gave him a once over. He wasn’t bad looking, even if Karen removed alcohol from the equation. On a different night, she’d probably yanked him in by the collar for a kiss. Instead, she coiled her finger, silently asking him to come closer. Karen rested her chin on the back of her hand as she said, “Look at you, sitting in the corner with your boys you bet what, five bucks? You'd get the girl that’s just hanging by the bar alone but let me tell you; she thinks you suck.”

Much to the man’s credit, he took Karen’s blunt rejection with a stride and returned to his dudes, arms spread wide. They applauded him, slapped his shoulders and cheered. Rather than debating it out this time, the gang settled for a round of rock, paper, and scissors, with a generous amount of intoxication added for extra laughs. Eventually, they settled on a winner, or looser all depending on how one would look at it. He half walked, half danced up to Karen, shiny white teeth, drink in one hand and fingers snapping to the beat of the music.

“Hi, I- Uh…” he turned to look over at his buddies, all who encourage him to go for the kill. “What can I say, you look spectacular tonight. You a model or something?”

Beer goggles were apparently extra thick on this one, or maybe the dim lights helped hide the details of her physique for it was rare for guys to be into girls that had arms of a heavyweight boxer. And her sleeveless top made no attempt whatsoever at hiding that fact. Sleep was starting to weigh heavily on Karen’s eyelids and she was about to humor the guy when, for whatever reason, he managed to stumble even though he was just standing still. The end result was a nasty portion of his drink splashed over Karen’s top.

She sent him an angry glare once her sluggish mind connected the dots and said, “Look, I didn't get all dressed up just for you to see, so quit spilling your drinks on me.”

The bartender was quick to offer Karen one of her towels and she focused on salvaging what she could from her top. By the time she’d given up, a new guy from the group stood by her side, waiting for her to notice him. “I’ll cook your dinner if you cook me breakfast,” he slurred out before his lips and tongue struggled to catch the straw on his drink.

“Look, let’s not kid ourselves here. You and your bros know who you are; high-fiving, talking shit, but you're all going home alone aren't you?” Karen said, slapping her hand on the bar counter before walking away.

Outside she welcomed the clear air of the night. A sluggish hand dug through her purse until Karen found her cell phone. On her way through the contact list, she found Vernon’s name staring her in the face. Fingers tensed up around the phone to the point where her knuckles turned white. Quickly her fingers danced over the buttons, burning through the confirmation messages and just like that, Vernon was no more. Karen drew in a sharp sniff and let out a relieved sigh as if a burden was lifted from her shoulders while she waited for her call to connect.

“Hi, it’s me. Can you come to pick me up?”

* * *

In another part of the city, the very same night Gena was undercover making her rounds among druggies and dealers. It was a simple ear to the ground walkabout, nothing special. Just enough to get a feel for what the market was like now that crimson had suffered a major blow. Her high heels clicked and clacked against the worn side streets that went underneath the Olympic Freeway. Whenever a car drove by, the headlights made her tiny orange shorts stick out like a sore thumb. She rounded another corner and arrived at a Los Santos Customs shop. Outside staff and some customers were talking shit and smoking. As Gena came closer, a cloud of weed and cigarette smoke slipped inside her nose with each breath she took.

“Hi,” she dragged out the word while waving her hand in a flirty greeting.

One of the customers took in the sight of Gena’s semi-transparent shirt tied around her chest and the dark scarlet bra underneath, “Eh, what's up, babe?”

“Not much could use a fix though,” she batted her fake lashes, “to get through my rounds.”

“That a fact? Well, whaddya want babe?” the staffer said as he stomped out his cigarette.

“Awh, aren’t you the sweetest baby ever,” Gena hugged the man and kissed his cheek.

“Whoo-hoo, check out the swag on Hao,” another customer cheered and clapped.

Gena smiled and leaned in closer to Hao, whispering in his ear, “I need that ice, ice baby…”

A corner of Hao’s mouth lifted and he silently nodded to himself as he dug around in his pocket. It was a small, yet diverse collection he had in the palm of his hand. Gena squinted her eyes, it was hard to make out the details under these shitty lighting conditions, but there was the powder, a colorful collection of pills and a bag of dark glasslike rocks. Her eyes sparkled with hunger as she looked up at Hao, “Baby, you got some crimson? Ah hell yeah.”

“You know it huh? Yeah, it’s the shit, but I ain’t sellin’ it to you.”

“What?” she lightly punched him in the shoulder, “Why you gotta be so selfish?”

Hao bounced slightly to the side from the punch, the oversized silver cross that hung around his neck swung around, “’Cause it’s the good shit. I use the good shit myself. Now back off bitch.”

“So? Sharing is caring baby,” Gena shifted her tone to a soft purr, clinging to Hao and running her hand over his chest. “Please baby? Just one rock, one icy bincy one. It’s hard to get crimson.”

“Yeah? Word on the street is that Vagos are pissed because someone’s pushing it out on their turf. You want crimson baby?” Hao said as he pocketed the drugs again. “Move your skanky ass over to Rancho and who knows? Suck the right dick and you just might get a red rock, maybe even two.”

“Fuck you and your lies, everyone knows cops hit Murietta and got all the goods. No one’s pushing shit into Rancho,” Gena turned and walked away before shouting over her shoulder, “You’re getting played.”

Hao shrugged and lit up another cigarette, “A’ight, fine. Don’t believe me then, you dumb bitch. Truth though, fresh batch is comin’ in on Rancho.”

Once Gena had rounded the corner and gotten some distance between her and the shop, her feet picked up the pace. Crimson was back after hardly any downtime at all by the looks of it and it had made its way to La Mesa already. Chances were that it was a smaller batch from some secondary storage that they’d missed when they hit Murietta, or at least that’s what Gena hoped for. However, if Hao was right and it was a fresh batch then there might not be that much of a change as far as the market was concerned. Crimson was still fairly new and kind of an underdog compared to the good old classics.

“Hey,” someone called after her from across the street.

Gena ignored the man, still pondering what to do next and for the light to change so she could cross the street. A possibility was that crimson now had no local stock, no buffer in case they had problems with distribution or production. So, if they could strangle the supply chain, crimson would fade from the streets in no time.

“Hey lady!” the man said, even going as far as jogging into traffic to get to her. Tires screeched, horns honked and foul language flew out the car window. “Sorry, sorry. My- my bad, okay.”

“Get the fuck away from me, freak,” Gena said with a wrinkled nose.

“You that cop lady, right?”

The color drained out of Gena’s face and she slowly turned her head like a rigid mannequin to face the man. He had brown hair styled into dreadlocks, tied back. Passing car lights revealed a black and red Fatal Incursion undershirt on a white t-shirt, and baggy blue jeans with brown sandals and white socks. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, “I- I don’t want- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Wade rubbed his hands together, the brown bracer on his right wrist looked uncomfortably tight and the watch on his left wobbled around loosely, “Oh boy, oh boy. You are, aren’t ya? Y’see, I remember. Yes, ma’am, I do. Doll yourself up as much as you want miss cop, it won’t do you any good. ‘Cause your face is tattooed into my mind.”

She slapped a hand over his mouth, “Will you shut the hell up?!” the words came out with an angry hiss between clenched teeth. “Why shouldn’t I throw your sorry ass in jail, huh?”

Muffled words managed to slip past Gena’s palm, “Oh I know that look. You need it, don’t you? Trying to cut down? Or maybe go back to plain ol’ crystal?”

A moment ticked by between the two of them. The street light changed from Walk to Don’t Walk and traffic resumed. Gena let Wade go, she avoided his smiling eyes through the persistent leering made her skin crawl. He held his finger up to his lips, “I can keep a secret. I can even give you some crimson, for a price.”

“Drop dead, dipshit,” she hugged herself.

“Okay, okay,” Wade lifted his hands and started to walk backward. “If you wanna go clean, that’s cool. Though I heard it’s hard to break free once the hooks are in. And I’m not sure if you can keep on dodging ‘em tests forever either. If you ever need some crimson, look up your pal Wade. I’ll set you up.”

* * *

Rose stepped out the front doors of Pillbox Hill Medical Centre, a small bag of personal belongings rested on her shoulder. Slightly dazed and out of place, she was quick to step out of the way for other people as if her presence was a burden. A honking car made her jolt and spin around, though her tensed up body melted down with relief at the sight of Captain Sonia behind the wheel. As the two women drove off, Rose leaned heavily on the window, her eyes looking at the bricked hospital as it faded from view in the side mirror.

“How are you feeling, Ms. Tremens?”

She exhaled, eyes drifting upwards to the blue skies and the occasional cloud, “Lost…”

They drove down Elgin Ave. where the remaining leftovers from the morning rush lingered. Besides the hustle and bustle of downtown traffic, there was a claustrophobic silence filling the car. Whenever the traffic allowed her, Sonia gave Rose a sideways glance, though neither her eyes nor her face betrayed any emotion. Coming to a red light that apparently had all the time in the world, Rose caught the sight of Sonia’s hand in the corner of her eye. She tensed up ever so slightly but softened once the radio came on. Gorillaz along with De La Soul and their Feel Good Inc. washed away the silence.

“Whe- where’s… uhm, where’s Ms. Starr?” Rose said finally.

“At work,” there was a monotonous tone to Sonia’s voice. “She had to attend a last-minute meeting with a new client.”

“Oh, right.”

The drive carried down Adam’s Apple Boulevard, past the repaired Mile High Club skyscraper complex. Looking up at the tall building towering over the streets, Rose said, “Hard to believe that’s where it all started for her. You’d never guess it from the looks of it now.”

“Ms. Tremens, Ms. Starr wanted me to remind you that she’s more than willing to help finance your education.”

“Am- am I a burden to her?”

Sonia took her eyes off the road for a moment, “No, perish the thought. What gave you that idea?”

“Well, I-” Rose started while she ran her fingers through her hair, “it's just- I made a mess and caused trouble for her. And, and it just doesn't seem possible that she'd want me around.”

The light shifted to green just as Sonia said, “In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities.”


	14. Supply & Demand

Neatly folded pants got tucked inside a duffel bag and zipped closed. The scarlet cape danced in the air as Power Girl pulled it over her head, a string of golden medallions sparkled and shined in the sunlight. After she nudged the bag out of sight with her foot, Power Girl took to the skies above the StarrWARE office building. Once high enough up, she shifted around and set course for the thirteenth precinct out on Mission Row. Aside from dodging a few birds along the way, the trip passed without incident. Power Girl gave a quick smile and wink to the front desk officer along with a polite wave to the people who were waiting out in the reception area.

“Lieutenant Schachter,” she said with a short nod to the blonde-haired man, “is your helicopter fixed yet?”

“No ma'am should be though by the end of the week,” Schachter took a step to the side to let her pass. “Thanks again for the assist.”

“Don't mention it. Have you seen detective Reed by the way?”

His handsome boyish face frowned, “Think so yeah. Check her office.”

Power Girl headed over to detective Reed's office, gave the door a few polite knocks and peeked inside. Reed sat behind her desk looking over some files together with another man Power Girl didn't recognize. “Is this a bad time or do you have a minute?”

“Hmm?” Reed looked up from her file, “No, please come in Power Girl. Close the door behind you.”

The man offered his hand as soon as Power Girl stopped by Reed's desk, “Stephen Carter, head of narcotics.”

“Power Girl, extra-terrestrial,” she shook his hand firmly. “Look, I'll make it quick since you two are in the middle of something. I was wondering if it'd be possible for you to vouch for me. Considering what I've done to help you out with the crimson case and all.”

“Yeah, about that,” Stephen said, still flexing his hand from the shake. “We just got a report from sergeant Buehler that crimson is back on the streets.”

“Well shit,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “I guess that means me and Gena go for round two of whack a mole.”

Detective Reed leaned forward, her elbows rested on her desk, “Actually, we would have preferred if you didn't contact sergeant Buehler until further notice.”

“What? Why not?” Power Girl trusted out her chest in protest.

“Well,” Stephen started, his eyes had trouble deciding on where to look, “you're not exactly low profile considering how you... uh... dress.”

“Oh, come on! That's bullshit,” she looked at Stephen then at Reed yet found no support in either of their faces. “Who the fuck is going to spot me from twelve hundred feet up in the air? Gena needs my help, we're a good team.”

“Regardless,” Reed cut in with a tone that left the discussion dead, “sergeant Buehler continues to investigate the source of the designer drug while undercover. You will not contact her; do you understand me? We cannot risk having to start all over again because of some silly costumes. If we can get to the root of this, I'll vouch for you until my dying breath. Clear?”

Power Girl glared at her for a moment, through a clenched jaw she said, “Like a bell, ma'am.”

* * *

Thin silvery smoke puffed out from Ryan's nostrils as he leaned against the wall, hugging the shade as best he could. The summer sun was really starting to get hot and bothersome yet smoking inside the lab was not an option. Ryan was many things, but he wasn't stupid enough to taint his wonderful creation. A vein popped out in his neck at the sound of Bridgette and her little gang of motorcycles. The low rumble from their running engines was bad enough, but the roar they gave off once they hit the road trembled through his guts so badly it made him almost lose what little lunch he had.

“Ready to roll yet another boulder up the hill?” he said to Bridgette.

“Uh, huh.”

He studied her for a moment, weighing the words in the back of his mind, “I think it's time to upgrade, don't you agree Bridgette?”

“Upgrade? In what way?”

“Bigger shipments,” Ryan said, spreading out his arms.

Marcus stepped up behind Bridgette, “That's not a good idea. You'll be asking for trouble.”

Ryan paused, tilted his head while he took a long drag from his cigarette. His face hardened and from behind his sunglasses, he sent a river of angry daggers at Marcus. The remains of the cigarette dropped down and got squashed underneath his foot hard as if he was killing a repulsive bug. He approached Bridgette and Marcus in a slithering S pattern, deep breaths filled his lounges while trembling fingers ran through his gel-filled hair. Behind a stiff, impatient smile he said, “How so?”

“That crimson stuff sells well as you promised,” Marcus said, his thumbs hooked in on his belt. “Too well if you ask me. The customers are happy, but the other gangs? They're on an edge. Probably the only thing keeping them from busting our balls is that we have the quality, they have the quantity. If you decide to push bigger shipments, they'll come for us.”

“Good thing I hired a hardened motorcycle gang and not a bunch of girl scouts to do the shipping,” Ryan said, noticing that Bridgette's face tensed up at his comment.

Bridgette gestured to Marcus to stay out of it, “We'll get the job done, what do you suggest?”

“A couple of vans should do, then you can get whole batches in one trip,” Ryan spread out his hands. “Save time, save gas money and whatnot.”

Lucas joined in on the conversation, “We have that old dune loader. We could use that.”

Ryan gave a dismissive wave of his hand, “No, no, no, closed vans,” he fished out a stack of cash from his pocket. “Here, take this and talk to the guys over at Los Santos Customs, down on sixty-eight. They'll set you up with something nice, clean and untraceable.”

* * *

The green dune loader that Bridgette parked just outside the Los Santos Customs shop had enough rust dots on its hood and sides to be passed as freckles. Her grandfather always said it gave the car character and soul. It had been a faithful machine, ever since her grandfather snatched it from the military and founded the Lost. Though all things must come to an end and it was fitting that she'd be the one that saw it off. She killed the engine and stepped outside, a small cloud of dry sand kicked up from her heavy biker boot. Metal joints creaked as the door swung open on the other side, Lucas didn't like the idea of selling old faithful. That much was obvious considering he'd been pouting the whole drive.

“Still think this is wrong Bridge,” he said, his hand ran affectionately over the hood of the truck.

“You don’t know what it’s like. When you scraped your knee, you were coddled,” she looked at him and holstered her gun, “Father told me to get my ass up and stop wasting his time. Sentimentality is for the weak. We're not weak.”

A mechanic stepped out in the sun, drying his oil-stained hands with a dirty old rag, “G'day folks, what can I do for ya?”

“Scrap this,” Bridgette jerked her thumb at the dune loader, “and Ryan sends his regards, said you guys had a couple of vans for us?”

The mechanic hesitated for a moment until Bridgette presented the money, then it was all sunshine and smiles, “Ryan, eh? Met my girl through him, one of those wild sandy shores parties he used to have. Only he managed to get the hottest city girls all the way out here.”

“Don't care,” Bridgette said.

“Right. Lemme fetch 'em keys for ya,” he turned and jogged lightly into the shop. “Timmy! Where 'em van keys at?!”

It only took a couple of minutes before the vans rolled out of the shop, but it felt like a small eternity underneath the scorching desert sun, even if it was well on its way towards the horizon. A wild coyote tried to cross the road, only to get its head smashed to mush by a speeding vehicle. Its limp body spiraled aside before coming to a halt just by the edge of the road. Bridgette didn't let herself get distracted by the thud, honking car horns or foul language. No, her eyes remained fixed on the two vans. Both vans were black as wrought iron, save the beet red rims and the aileron on top. The mechanic stepped out from the driver's seat and handed Bridgette the keys, “Whether ya filling it with buddies or filling it with bodies, it's good to have some room in the back. If ya believe in experience, these vans have seen more crime scenes than network TV - the Declasse Burrito.”

Bridgette was neither sold nor amused by the mechanic's little sales pitch, instead, she just snatched the keys with all the speed and precision of a terminator and said, “Luke, take the other one.”

The two of them joined up with the others back at Ryan's lab and loaded up with crimson. Just one small box remained when they were done, and although they could probably split it up and shove the content in the glove box of either van, Bridgette decided against it. She and Lucas took one van, James and Marcus the other. The drive took them down Route 68, underneath the Senora Freeway and along the Senora Way. By the time they passed the Palmer-Taylor Power Station, the sun was already below the horizon and they took a small break to switch drivers. They pressed on down the Palomino Freeway before taking off the freeway in La Mesa and arriving in Rancho.

“I say goddamn that was a long-ass drive,” James stretched as soon as he stepped out of the van. “Fuck, my ass feels like it was used as a freebie by a bunch of faggots.”

Marcus clapped his hands as to rally up the gang, “Okay, okay people. Let's get these crates unloaded and vans off the street. C'mon, double time.”

“Mark, it can wait,” said Bridgette who was rubbing her shoulder. “We'll deal with it tomorrow.”

“Bridge...”

“Tomorrow Mark,” her tone left no room for debate.

* * *

Earlier that same day, in a different part of town, Gena's jaw muscles hurt enough for the throbbing pain to nag at the inside of her skull. The bowl of soup she had in front of her didn't look nor smelled particularly appetizing despite that she'd gone all day without as much as a single bite. She struggled to get a solid grip on the spoon, it was so heavy in her hand. Sadness clouded her features, the exhaustion that sank deep into her very bones made every movement such a chore, yet she was pressing close to thirty hours without sleep. Too tired to do anything, too awake to fall asleep. Her fingers found a framed picture of a man and a little girl, about a year old, “Greg... Amanda... Mommy's sorry. So, so very sorry.”

Gena picked up the picture and hugged it close. She rocked back and forth anxiously, her lip trembled and every now and then a sob escaped her. A small voice in the deep subbasement of her mind tried to soothe her, assure her that this hell hole was merely comedown symptoms and that if she managed to stay clean, these symptoms would resolve on their own. She just needed to dig down, find something really precious and hold on for dear life.

“A week, seven days,” she muttered under her breath, “suck it up, girl. You can do it, come on now. Then- then- just... hold the FUCK on for- for...”

Her teeth started to clatter, the sound of a music box tickled into her ears. In the corner of her eyes, she caught fleeting glimpses of a little girl running around her sofa so cheerfully. Gena sat up, trying to get a good look on the girl, her head started to spin and the walls around her were lost in a torrent of light and shadow as if she was inside a spinning circus. A trembling, worried hand touched and scratched her lips, “Amanda... be careful, mommy's-”

“Amanda, come to daddy,” a man said, his voice hissed and faded in and out like a radio station that was not fully tuned.

Gena chocked and coughed, “Greg...! No, no, no, no! It's- it's in my head, my head. Brain, yes,” she tapped her temple with a finger as if she was writing in rapid Morse code. “Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, n-n-nineteen and- and twenty. Twenty days, maybe less. Then I'll be free. I'll fly, like a bird. Just like her. Just- like- her...”

She took a deep breath, held it until her trembling hands stopped and exhaled slowly, “Until then... Just one. One rock to take off the worst edge.”

* * *

Lucy closed the door to her office behind her and struggled to get her phone to cooperate. The absence of buttons on the iPhone was more than a little off-putting and the various icons weren't particularly informative either. After a few dead ends and a couple of extra swipes, she managed to place a call, “Kara? Listen, can you talk?”

“I think so... Can you hear me okay?”

“Yeah, I hear you just fine, why?” Lucy flipped open a file on her desk.

“Sweet! Looks like my bracelet is finally working perfectly with telephone signals,” Kara's voice bubbled with enthusiasm. “It had me worried there for a second.”

“Listen, Kara, we've had a few informants come in and they say that there's a motorcycle gang that's shipping the crimson into the city.”

Wind ruffled up the call on the other end, “Okay... wait, are you in the crimson case too now?”

“Yes Kara, I am,” Lucy said as she took a seat at her desk. “The narcotics division thinks that crimson is manufactured somewhere else, either in another state or abroad. Plus, you're tangled in this mess as well, so the FBI has to keep an eye on things. Where are you anyway?”

There was a tap on the window behind Lucy, “Guess twice...”

Lucy turned in her chair and saw Power Girl floating effortlessly in mid-air, her white suit stood in stark contrast to the ever-darkening night sky, though her boots were almost swallowed. This high up, the random gusts of wind did what they could to tuck and pull at her cape as well as ruffing up her hair. Power Girl didn't seem to mind though, as she had a big grin plastered over her face. Her right hand touched her ear as if she was holding an earpiece in place. Lucy's mouth curved into a smile, “Late shift? Have you checked in with the precinct?”

“Yup.”

“Are you going to cause any trouble?”

Power Girl scoffed, “Nope, I'm a model citizen now.”

Lucy nodded with approval, faint hints of pride could be seen on her face, “Listen... don't do anything reckless, okay? And remember that you can only operate in Los Santos, Davis, Del Perro and Rockford Hills. So, don't go chasing after bikers all over at Blaine county, you hear?”

“Will do Lucy, will do...” Power Girl put her palm on the window with an assuring smile barely visible.

“Listen,” Lucy licked her lips, “I’ll have a talk with my superiors, see if we can get you to operate on a state level.”

Power Girl gave a tilted nod of gratitude, “That’d be great. Look, uh, I better get going. Talk to you soon.”

And before Lucy could fit in another word, she was up and gone into the night.

* * *

With the FBI building getting swallowed by the early night below her, Power Girl’s fingers tapped and swiped over her bracelet. Braille-like writing of alien letters rose and sank based on her input. Every now and then she pressed the wrong command and struggled to navigate back to where she’d made a wrong turn. The letters were nostalgic and familiar, yet at the same time strangely alien to her. She didn’t really read let alone understood them, rather she knew what she wanted to do and trusted that her fingers would make it happen. Oddly enough, Power Girl faltered in her task whenever she focused on it with deliberate intent. The best results arrived only when she simply went with the flow.

“County dispatch, mark PG in service,” she said once she finally managed to shift from telephone to police radio.

She flew between the tall office buildings with her eyes and ears peeled for anything out of the ordinary. A man spits out his coffee all over his keyboard at the sight of her cruising by his window. she gave him a smile and an apologetic wave of her hand, it looked like people would need some time to get used to the sight of an oddly dressed muscular woman floating by a sixth-floor window. Power Girl rounded another corner and spotted a motorcycle by an intersection waiting for the light to change. Initially, she didn’t really give it much thought, even if bikes were something she was keeping a look out for. That changed once a car stopped behind the bike and that its headlights pointed out to her that the bike had a dealer plate on it.

“Good evening sir,” she told the biker as she made a soft landing just next to him.

The pitch-black biker helmet turned and gave her a once over, “Oh what the fuck, you’re that Blonde Powerhouse.”

“What the fuck is right sir,” she pointed over to a sidewalk on the other side of the intersection. “Why don’t you go ahead and mount that curve?”

He nodded and did as he was told the moment the light changed. Power Girl lifted a few inches off the ground and glided over to his side, her finger found her ear and she connected to the police radio, “County dispatch, PG checking some traffic with a black colored Akuma. I will be westbound on Vespucci Boulevard, Pillbox Hill District at the intersection piece of Peaceful Street. It’s only one subject, so no additional required.”

In her earpiece, she could hear dispatch acknowledge while she studied the bike closer. The bike was a Japanese crotch rocket sure to please the ladies with its compact form and ink-black paint job. Save the metallic grey on the engine and what looked like carbon fiber plates on the underside and over the wheels, it certainly had that speed demon look and feel to its design. No wonder the manufacturer decided to call it a devil. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of exhaust that lingered behind the bike.

She crossed her arms over her chest, “Alright sir, Power Girl with the Los Santos Police Department, do you have your license, registration proof of insurance on you please?”

The driver straightened up on his bike, “Yes I do. I also want to let you know I have a pistol on my left hip.”

“Okay, appreciate that, thank you,” her arms sunk down at her sides.

“So, I’m gonna reach in my pocket and grab my license now.”

Power Girl took the papers and looked them over as she said, “Okay Mr… Gall- Gallenhart? I appreciate that. So, the reason for the stop is the dealer plates on the bike. You’re required to have your permanent plate on this vehicle, okay? The dealer plates are no go, I think you know that.”

Mr. Gallenhart nodded in agreement, “I just purchased this bike and I was on the way to get it registered.”

“Mm-hmm,” she inclined her head, “when did you purchase it? Just literally just now?”

“Now yeah, I just drove off the lot with it,” he said while pulling one of his gloves on tighter, wiggling his fingers as he did.

“Look, how long have you been in town Mr. Gallenhart?”

Even behind the black helmet and mirror-like visor glass, she could tell that he had to reach into his mind to find the answer, “About, uh, two days. Sorry, the jetlag makes things a little blurry.”

“So, are you aware that before you leave the dealership, you need to make sure those plates are good to go?”

A pause followed, then came a defeated exhale, “I was not aware of that ma’am.”

“Okay look, even the temporary tag should come back to you sir but running that partial there looks like part of the plate has been removed or fallen off or something,” Power Girl said as she doubled check the plate number against the database via her bracelet. “Because it’s not returning to anything, alright? So that’s failure to display a proper state-issued registration, okay?”

She gestured him to sit tight before she turned her attention to her bracelet while taking a few steps away. As she tapped away on her bracelet, Power Girl’s hand navigated the menus based on hunches and gut feeling. Occasionally her fingers flared into sharp and frustrated talons accompanied with a flashing glare at the blue metallic bracelet. Finally, she managed to cross over from the bumbling alien glyphs to the more familiar letters of the police database. It was still a pain to navigate, as the user interface wasn’t really made with alien wrist computers in mind.

Some swipes and commands later, Mr. Gallenhart’s record came up. It wasn’t bad with five tickets, but it wasn’t good either on the account of ten arrests. Then again Power Girl did notice that he didn’t have any current wants or warrants to his name and no particular caution code came up either. She glanced over her shoulder, weighing her options. Mr. Gallenhart was a nice enough guy, pretty cooperative, but there was something about him that made Power Girl alert as if he’d slip away the moment an opportunity presented itself. While she hadn’t smelled any crimson or any other drug for that matter on him, the whole bike felt like a bag of trouble, especially in the context of the crimson case.

A smack on the wrist should suffice she concluded with herself so that she could make a note of his plate and keep an eye on it later on. Power Girl returned the papers to Mr. Gallenhart and said, “Look, sir, so today you’re going to get off with a warning for that failure to display, okay? I know you know better, which makes me very curious as to what you might be up to, what you might be doing. Just know that my eyes are on you sir if you’re going to be rolling around riding dirty as it were.”

Mr. Gallenhart pockets his papers and nodded, “Well I think it’d be a little silly, but there you go. So easily identifiable these clothes if I was doing anything suspicious.”

One of Power Girl’s eyebrows raised with interest as she gave him a once-over. A passing car illuminated Mr. Gallenhart’s blue t-shirt which sported a large American flag across his chest along with simple black pants. Of course, his black biker helmet was also rather eye-catching, even if it did hide all of his facial features as well as his hair, at least as far as Power Girl could tell from her angle.

“Not that, you know, I would ever do anything suspicious ma’am, but I’d be very more wrong-”

“It’d be very out of character too I feel,” Power Girl said. “I mean, that’s not in your moral fiber. You’re a stand-up gentleman who enjoys volunteering his spare time to the homeless and whatnot. You would never be out here doing fucked up stuff for sure.”

“Yup, that’s- that’s me alright.”

Power Girl gave him a short nod as the grasp gravity had on her started to slip and she rose slowly up in the air, “You have a good evening Mr. Gallenhart. County dispatch PG, I’ll be back at service.”

Once she turned around mid-air to carry on her patrol, Power Girl noticed for the first time that a small crowd had formed behind her. At first, it made her frown since this hadn’t exactly been the high-octane explosive kind of action that usually attracted crowds. Traffic stops were just about as dull as they got, though they did help her spin a net that would allow her to catch the big fishes out there. She was about to accelerate when she saw something in the faces of the small crowd, awe, and wonder. It wasn’t something she’d never seen before, though in the past it had always been hidden behind a thick fog of fear. Something had changed, though she was uncertain of what.

Some hours later in her shift, Power Girl made a quick stop by a store to catch some food. She’d just paid for her food and was about to leave when she bumped into a man, “Whoop, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” the man said as he squatted down and picked up a can of Dr. Pepper. “Say, you’re that superhero that’s been cleaning up the drug dealers, aren’t you?”

“That’s me,” she opened the soda can and took a swig. “And you are?”

“Jamie Biron, I run the Citizens’ Patrol Watchdog in this neighborhood,” Jamie said as he offered his hand to her.

She gave his hand a firm shake before the two of them headed for the door, “Power Girl, a pleasure. So, a community patrol program. Well, that’s a first.”

“Yeah, well the police can’t be everywhere, and criminals of every stripe rely on this simple fact. Community policing and neighborhood watch programs attempt to make communities more aware of dangers within their borders,” he held the door open for her and once outside he stayed half a step behind her. “Reading about you in the paper made me want to do something more than just compiling software code.”

Power Girl’s eyes sparkled with interest at Jamie’s words for a moment before she caught herself and calmed her composure, “Is that so? You work with computers?”

“Yeah, I worked hard all through school and now work as a computer engineer,” he sounded a little bashful over the fact. “I uh, parked my car by the car wash. Would you mind joining me? I’d love to chat if you’re not busy of course.”

“I can take a quick break,” she said, her clever smile was hidden behind the soda can. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about this program of yours?”

Jamie seemed to brighten up enough to put any sunrise to shame, so much that he hastily stumbled into traffic as they crossed Innocence Boulevard. Power Girl’s arm shot out in front of him, stopping him dead in his tracks and allowing a truck to pass, “Well, I established a community patrol program under the guidance of MPD officers. Me and my neighbors keep a close watch on our community, and our efforts have helped cut the crime rate in the area by some seventeen percent. As a matter of fact, my project is held up as a model of citizen involvement in opposing crime.”

“Stars above, that’s really impressive Mr. Biron. So just how does it work?”

“Along with my neighbors, I organized a schedule of patrols and observation throughout my subdivision. At least two citizens are on call at any time to assist a neighbor in need or provide a late-night escort,” he said and it was clear not only from his tone but from the way Jamie walked that Power Girl’s praise was worth its weight in gold to him. He walked as if he’d slept with every Playboy bunny in history and got paid a lot of money to do it.

Power Girl drank the last of her Dr. Pepper, “Look, I better get back out there but before I go… Keep up the good work Mr. Biron. I’m- really impressed that a piece of a newspaper article about me of all people, inspired you to do what you do.”

He shrugged, probably blushing so much he looked like a cooked lobster though it was hard to tell under the street light, “What can I say ma’am? Andrew Vinson wrote one hell of a piece. Never underestimate the Fourth Estate’s influence on public opinion.”

“Duly noted Mr. Biron, stay safe.”


	15. Losing a Battle, Winning the War

The angry roar of a gun stabbed into Bridgette’s ear like a javelin, promptly jerking her out of her sleep. It came so suddenly that she tumbled out of her makeshift bed and landed on the floor with a hollow thud. A groan, tired and loaded with complaint escaped her before a series of gunfire sounds cut her off. She looked up and around, rapidly blinking sleep from her eyes. Alert and with purpose Bridgette snatched her jacket and gun while she took a round through the room, kicking the others awake. Their complaints died down as soon as they realized what was going on outside and they leaped into action.

Everyone barged out the door with loaded guns and killing intent in their eyes, everyone saves Marcus. He was pinned down behind the van, his trusty revolver in one hand while the other pressed down on his guts. Even with half sleepy eyes and shitty parking lot lighting, it was clear to Bridgette that Marcus was hurt and he was hurt bad. James dived in first as if he needed to remind everyone in the state why he was nicknamed “Freight Train Jim.” He wouldn’t hit anyone with his shotgun from that distance and running didn’t really do much to improve that fact. It did, however, get the full and undisputed attention of the Vagos.

Lucas stayed far more tactical, opting to hunch down and attempt to flank from some parked cars. However, he only had a couple of cars and then a whole lot of empty space between him and the Vagos. They had smashed into the nearby streetlight with their car, leaving their side of the firefight relatively hidden under the night. Bridgette tried to peek out from behind a car to check on Marcus, only to have the window explode into a thousand little shards that rained down on her head and neck. The image of Marcus' blood-red hand clutching his wound stuck to her mind, her pistol swung over the hood of the car and she fired blindly in the general direction of the Vagos until she ran out of bullets.

A mix of adrenaline and nerves turned Bridgette’s hands into a trembling mess of jelly as she tried desperately to shove a new clip into her pistol. She gritted her teeth and blinked away angry tears as curses hissed through her teeth. Finally, after two-thirds of eternity, the clip slipped into place and she was ready for round two. By the look of things, it appeared that the Vagos had them outnumbered and outgunned. Looking over at Lucas and James, they were both pinned down behind different cars. She didn’t have much to go on, a dozen bullets if even that and by the look of things, neither James nor Lucas seemed to fare any better.

Bridgette was about to call out to them to fall back so they could restock on ammo when the ground shook as if a mortar shell had hit nearby. The shooting from the Vagos not only persisted, it seemed to increase in speed. She threw a hasty glance through the shattered car window and caught glimpse of someone dressed in white taking the Vagos head-on with nothing but bare fists. Several times Bridgette was certain the person was shot at point-blank range, but for whatever reason, he or she just kept on going.

Not one to look a gifted horse in the mouth, Bridgette saw her chance and dashed over to Marcus’ side, “Mark, come on! Get up, we got to leave. Now!”

“Bridge!” Lucas called out to her over the police sirens, “We are leaving!”

Her fingers dug into Mark’s t-shirt and she pulled with all her might. The fabric tore apart and Marcus’ dead body tumbled over to the side, his revolver made a lifeless clatter against the asphalt. Everything seemed to freeze in place for Bridgette, not like that bullet time effect in the Matrix movies. No, everything just froze solid straight to the bone. She couldn’t muster a single thing. No breath, no screams, and no tears. Just a stone-cold chill that had frozen her entire world solid. It all brutally shattered into a million pieces when Lucas tackled her like a football player before he half tossed her over his shoulder and hauled ass. Then and only then did the scream come, a scream that sounded like nails dragged across a blackboard made of a hundred souls.

* * *

A door banged open and three lost souls stumbled into the clubhouse, scrambling over one another for a frantic minute before the door slammed shut. Wave after wave of heavy breathing, panting and gulped swallows washed into the silent room. Bridgette’s hands squeezed into fists, they pounded at the door with a dull yet frustrated rhythm. Curses and foul words dripped out from behind her teeth in a hushed tone. Behind her she could hear James stomp around, rattling up drawers as he frantically searched for something, another batch of shotgun shells most likely. The old clubhouse out in East Vinewood was as good as a place as any to catch their breaths and collect their wits.

“What the fuck!” he slammed the drawer shut, the wooden bang rattled off like a gun. “What the fucking fuck was that?! Huh?!”

“Jim, calm do-” Lucas started, the sharp slap of flesh against flesh cut him off.

“Don’t…! Don’t you fuckin’ touch me, man! Just- Fuck!”

Bridgette took a deep, trembling breath. The adrenaline was losing its edge, shakes were kicking in and made her hands feel numb. She should say something, if she could only get her teeth to stop rattling in her jaw, that’d be nice. All of her fingers dug into her hair, palms pressed against her skull. Partially to keep her head from exploding, partially to get the damn shakes to stop. They still smelled like gunpowder and it was only now that she noticed that her ears were ringing.

James paced around like a caged predator, restless and starved for blood, “Mark man, he just- and we just bailed on ‘im like cowards. Just like that, runnin’ with our tail between our legs and, and drive halfway across town to- FUCK!” Glass broke and scattered over the bar counter as he used his shotgun like a crude bat.

A hand landed softly on her shoulder, the touch made her jolt, “Bridge, you okay?”

She shoved her hands in her pockets, avoiding Lucas’ eyes as she turned and walked away from him. Everything on the inside was on red alert, every muscle, nerve, you name it. All hands were on deck, taking in a metric ton of information and digesting it like a meat grinder, quickly spitting out anything that wasn’t perceived as a threat. Bridgette noticed that her throat was swelling up, a thick ball of emotion nagged and pressed on to be vomited out. Either that or it was that damn double cheeseburger that suddenly wanted to come out, accompanied with stomach acid watered down with whiskey.

“The fuck happened?!” James' words came out with a torrent of spit, some landed on his chin and dangled by a thread. His big, imposing and intense presence were off the hinges. “Luke? Bridge?!”

“I- I guess Marcus heard- or maybe noticed something,” James spread his hands and his shoulders never really sank down from his shrug, “and, and he went to check it out.”

James stomped up to Lucas and jabbed his finger at Lucas’ chest, “Bull-fucking-shit, and where the hell were you, man?! Didn’t you have- supposed to be on guard duty or some shit?”

“Don’t do this Jim.”

“Or what?” James held out his arms, “You gonna go at me? Is that it? Huh?! Toss some damn cards in my face or some dumb shit?”

A pistol round went off, dust and small wooden splinters rained down on the men. “That’s enough!” Bridgette’s words came out like a crackling bolt of thunder.

The ringing in her ears returned with renewed vigor while a small platoon of miners seemed to be hammering away at her brain. Bridgette tossed the gun aside, letting it slide over the bar counter and helped herself with a bottle of tequila. She lined up some shots for herself and the others, hastily and sloppy filled the glasses. The first shot was on her lips before the bottle hit the counter, her face twisted and grimaced as the liquid burned its way over her tongue and down her throat. Gunpowder smell throbbed inside her nostrils and whenever she relaxed her jaw, the rattling returned. Lucas and James sat down by the counter and took their shots, smacking the empty glasses against the counter. They didn’t look at each other, instead, Bridgette took a strange fixation on their glasses and filled them up with the same sloppiness as the first time, though with less haste, “Marcus is dead.”

Her words were followed by a painful silence, the searing kind that you feel after some dumbass motherfucker splashed hot water on the back of your hand. Strength faded from her hand as it melted off the bottle. Already the booze was tickling into her brain, the cold poison ushered in by her overactive heart. Bridgette did a damn good job holding her composure considering her flogged nerves and a brain that was already starting to slush around in her skull. There was a frustration to her fumbling hands as she paraded through the room, flipping light switches. Eventually, she ended up by the jukebox. A finger landed on a button and she was about to press it when vailing police sirens could be heard in the distance, getting louder every second.

“C’mon guys, let’s get the hell outta here,” Bridgette said before finishing off her shot. “Ryan needs to know.”

* * *

Dawn was just a thin yellow line stretching across the horizon. Ryan yawned, his mouth hidden behind a beard made of shaving foam. Sleepy and bloodshot eyes returned a half-hearted glare back at him through the cracked and dirty mirror. The razor in his hand paused just a small inch from his cheek before it sank down again. Ryan cocked his head as if he were trying to catch distant sounds on the edge of hearing better. Like a half-excited zombie, Ryan stomped outside with just a ragged towel tossed over his shoulder. The uneven surface of the metallic stairs to his trailer jabbed underneath his naked feet as the sound of a lonesome car engine grew louder.

It came to a screeching halt, the tires scraping up dirt and sand, in front of the trailer and three people jumped out. Ryan rolled his shoulders, “What’s up?”

“Ah for fuck's sake,” James said as he turned his face away, an outstretched hand obstructing his view, “put some fuckin’ pants on, man.”

Bridgette stayed on target as she walked up to Ryan, her stride long and confident. She took in a deep breath as if steeling herself before she said, “Ryan, we have a problem.”

“Uh-huh,” his reply was muffled from behind the towel as he wiped himself clean.

“Marcus is- we got hit. We got hit by the Vagos,” she exhaled while she ran her hand through her hair, “and… Marcus is dead. Cops arrived and- my guess is that if the Vagos didn’t snatch the drugs, the cops certainly did.”

Ryan yawned, “How did you get away?”

“It was that super lady,” Lucas said stepping up to Bridgette’s side, “she hit the Vagos rather than us. We saw a chance to split and we did.”

He frowned at Lucas, “Super…? Oh, right. Uhm, pow- power something. And we’re certain Marcus is dead?”

Tears filled Bridgette’s eyes, “Yes. I’m sure.”

A moment dragged by, the stillness of the early morning in Sandy Shores rolled in like a thick fog. Ryan motioned the others to come inside and gestured towards his fridge. A wordless invitation that they were free to help themselves. He could hear them fumble around in the kitchen while he helped himself with some clothes. Hushed whispers were exchanged between them, tired voices and flogged nerves set the tone. Dirty and worn books on chemistry got shoved aside while Ryan looked for his favorite shirt. He was certain he washed it the day before, he just couldn’t recall where he’d put it.

“So,” Ryan said while he pulled a t-shirt over his head, “will this power chick follow you guys?”

Lucas shook his head, cupping a beer in his hands, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Uh-huh, she didn’t- notice you guys there or something?”

Bridgette slammed the fridge door close, “Even if she did, she can’t come after us. Bitch can only operate in Los Santos. For now, all we need to worry about is the sheriff department and state troopers.”

“Well, with the van and the drugs,” Ryan sniffed an old pizza slice before deciding against eating it, “gone… we need to reorganize. Find alternatives to getting the drugs out there. It sold well I trust?”

“Hell yeah,” James said, “the fuck do you think the Vagos took a shot at us in the first place?”

“What do you suggest?” Bridgette said before she took a sip of water.

A smile curved Ryan’s lips, “Oh I suggest that we use small airplanes to drop the next shipment close to the city. The highways in and out of the city will probably be closely watched from here on out.”

“Right…” Bridgette said, “just let me pull a small plane out of my ass and send it off.”

“I suggest you stuff the attitude and get some rest. Sandy Shores Airfield should be easy enough to take over, just shove a gun or two into the face of the staff and pilots. Meanwhile, I’ll look around for some extras to refill your ranks.”

* * *

The desert sun was at its highest, bombarding the ground below with piercing and unforgiving rays when Bridgette stepped out from the trailer. A large meal and several hours’ worth of sleep had gone a long way to shave off the rougher edges. She squinted, shielding the sun out with her pistol. Behind her both James and Lucas fell in line, flanking her sides. Off in the distance, a dog barked, barely cutting over the sound from the nearby highway. The air was perfectly still, feeling like a hot smog on Bridgette’s skin as she walked up to the car they’d stolen the night before. The night Marcus died. She went poker-faced as she pulled up the door and got behind the wheel. Lucas settled in the back while James claimed shotgun.

It was a short drive from Ryan’s trailer to the airfield, just across the highway and over the train tracks. Bridgette’s boot pressed hard on the gas, daring anyone else on the road to challenge them. Aside from a few screeching tires and honking horns, no one seemed too keen on pressing their luck any further. On their right-hand side, a small collection of buildings came into view where the rusted hulk of a metal shed dominated. For a hangar, it wasn’t much, just the absolute bare minimum to keep the weather and elements out. And even then, it did a mediocre job at best. The place had probably not seen a coat of paint or a fresh set of nails since the end of the Vietnam War.

Sand and gravel scraped underneath the tires as Bridgette pumped on the breaks. The car-choked to death as soon as she let out the clutch, not bothering setting it in neutral first. James took that choke out as his clue and stepped out of the car, tall and broad as a barn. Lucas stuck around by the car, double-checking his revolver while waiting for Bridgette’s next move. She jerked her head in the direction of the flimsy radio tower. He bobbed his head, straightened and headed for it.

An indistinguishable exchange of words teased Bridgette’s ears from inside the hangar. She barely recognized James’ voice as it got twisted and bent from bouncing inside the hangar. Details were vague, but the tone and volume painted a fairly clear course for the conversation. Metal containers clattered on the floor, tools rattled and men scuffled against one another. A few solid whacks and smacks followed, something solid and hard butted against much softer and less durable. The sounds died down, a thin and drawn out whimper dragged itself out from the hangar. Bridgette waited patiently by the car as an elderly man wobbled out of the hangar, bleeding badly from his nose.

“Hi, I’m- I’m your blhew pilot,” he said.

“You better be able to fly with a broken nose, or you’re no good to us.”

“Yush ma’am, jusht gotta make the bhleedin’ stopht firsth.”

She rubbed her hands on her thighs, “Alright then. Get out of here.”

Lucas came back from the radio tower, flexing his hand as if it was acing. He gave their newfound pilot a sideways glance before joining Bridgette. The two of them leaned against the side of the car, arms crossed over their chests, just taking in the silence of the well-worn runway. After a while, Lucas said, “Think this will work?”

“Why? You want out?”

He shook his head, “No, but… it’d be great if we had some sort of plan. Among ourselves at least. Ryan sees us as little but pawns, disposable ones at that.”

“We got caught off guard. Never again,” Bridgette massaged the back of her neck, “next time we’ll be ready. Ready for Vagos, ready for that super-bitch too.”

“How? I mean,” Lucas brows drew together, “she got shot plenty of times by the Vagos and, and from what I can recall, bitch just kept on going.”

“Then we’ll bring more guns, bigger guns to the fight than the Vagos did. Fuckers will pay for what they did to Marcus.”

* * *

“Jim, Luke get your asses in gear,” Bridgette said as she knocked on the table where the two men had fallen asleep. “We’re going to Yellow Jack Inn.”

“Huh? Wha?” James jolted up, one of his arms had fallen asleep over some random “bad girl” he’d picked up earlier in the week. She’d been hanging on to him, coming in from loud nights of booze and revelry. Lucas on the other hand barely moved, just glancing from underneath his poker strategy book.

“What’s up Bridge?”

She took in the sight of James’ girlfriend of the week, “Ditch the bitch, we’ll talk on the way.”

The trio made it out to the car that Ryan had provided for them after they were forced to ditch the stolen one. Not that it was a nice upgrade or anything, but it did get the job done. James seemed to slither along the ground like the ungrateful dead, a thick smell of booze and cigarette smoke followed in his wake. The hangover was a bitch, yet Bridgette still slammed the door on the car close, either out of spite or as a harsh reminder of who was in charge. The color drained out of James’ face as he went limp in his seat. Keeping that last cheeseburger down appeared to be a real challenge at this point.

Like so many other establishments out in Sandy Shores, it was a very simple and small bar, with a rustic appearance that offered darts, served drinks and had a Pool table. The many pictures on the walls inside were primarily of vehicles. There's even a snake inside a glass box next to the pool table, which James swore looked just like the one in the back of the dressing room in the Vanilla Unicorn. Just how he’d come over this information, Bridgette didn’t care to know. The gang joined Ryan by the pool table that he shared with two strangers, a young woman and a man a few years her junior by the looks of it. She was dressed with movement in mind, her clothes were form-fitting enough to never catch on her surroundings, but not so tight as to limit her in any way. As far as Bridgette was concerned, she’s well-kempt, and very much a soldier in demeanor and stance. She’s not unattractive but is easy to overlook. She blended in well… perhaps a little too well.

As for the kid, he was tiny. With his short and slight build, and his angelic baby face made him barely recognizable as an adult. Only closer inspection, Bridgette could tell even under the dim lights that he’s smart, for it showed in his eyes. He dressed conservatively, with an eye for function. Sticking out of his pockets were various electronics tools, gadgets and a notebook that had sketched schematics on it. He also carried a very large military issue pistol, wearing it so it shows against his frail chest. Presumably, as a sign that he’s not to be messed with. Bridgette nodded at Ryan, “Got your message.”

Ryan sent a pool ball clacking across the table, “Bridgette, fellows. This here is Talia Cohen and Aaron Hanselman.”

Bridgette just nodded and greeted them with her eyes rather than exchange handshakes. The corners of Ryan’s mouth turned up, but he said nothing. Instead, he focused on his game, planning his next shot as he circled around the table. They seemed to have lost James as they passed the bar. Lucas was by her side, yet his attention seemed elsewhere. Bridgette straightened herself, “Okay, what’s the plan?”

“We have to stop dicking around, small half-assed operations aren’t going to cut it anymore. We need to be precise, disciplined and organized if we’re to squeeze out the Vagos and deal with the cops at the same time.”

“Tall order for a couple of kids,” James grumbled before taking a swig of his beer.

Bridgette noticed that James’ little comment made Aaron step with an angry glare in his eyes, yet Talia stopped him dead in his tracks with a subtle gesture. Finally, Ryan lined up for another shot, “Don’t sell them short Jimmy, their military background from- fuck if I know, some war-torn country or another in Europe, is just what we need to build a foundation that can withstand both the Vagos and police. Talia is tasked to train new recruits in how to spot trouble and get out before shit hits the fan, alternatively how to best hold their ground if confrontation is unavoidable. Aaron is tasked with setting up a communication network and coordinate time and locations for drops.”

“So, you give ‘em their shot at the American dream,” James scoffed. “You’re a goddamn hero, y’know that Ryan?”

Bridgette shifted her weight from one foot to the other, “Who are we recruiting?”

“Well, there’s more to the Lost than you three, right?” Ryan’s expression dulled behind his sunglasses, “So I figured you’d ask them if they kindly take some pointers from Talia here on how to shoot, and then go to Aaron’s coordinates as they drive around.”

“More people mean more risk, plus they ain’t no fucking charity either,” Lucas said.

Ryan looked heavenward, as if the answers were up there, on the other side of the ceiling, “Charge more for the drugs then.”

“Alright,” Bridgette said before nudging her head to get Talia and Aaron to follow her outside, “let’s see what the kids can do. If the gang approves, we’ll get this show on the road.”

* * *

Captain Sonia clasped her hands behind her back, her eyes tracked a small boat heading towards land with a disapproving glare. As the sound of the boat engine faded and the clam slushing of the Pacific Ocean once again to the center stage, a sweet and inviting smell caught her attention. Kara walked up to her, half wrapped in a bathrobe and rubbing her hair dry. She could tell that Kara was tired, not the physically exhausted kind of tired. The type of tired one gets from not getting enough sleep. If Captain Sonia would be perfectly honest, she shared a similar fatigue. The night before Kara had put on quite the show, or perhaps her escort for the night had simply been that good at pressing her buttons.

“Good morning ma’am, slept well?”

Kara paused drying her hair, both her blue eyes locked on Captain Sonia, “I’m not sure if I like that tone, Captain.”

“Pardon ma’am, I didn’t-”

“Look, if you have something to say, spit it out,” she said while she tossed her hair.

Captain Sonia pondered a moment, weighing her words before she said, “If you don’t mind me saying so ma’am, I do not approve.”

“Of what? Escort services?”

“Prostitution, ma’am.”

Kara groaned and rolled her eyes, “Oh come on… don’t be such a prude. He’s an adult, I’m an adult. He offers a service in exchange for money, I pay and get to enjoy his services. What do you want me to do? Join a monastery?”

“Not at all ma’am,” the two women started to walk together along the long side of the yacht, “I feel you’d be better served in a more traditional relationship.”

“Look, I tried that, alright? Guess what? It didn’t work out.”

“With all due respect ma’am, you didn’t try that hard.”

Kara stopped walking and straightened, “Okay, look- what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Ma’am, you’re a smart young woman. Surely you know it takes two to tango,” her eyes narrowed. “Not once did you invite Mr. Valeron over to your home. Why is that?”

“Why? The fuck do you think, Captain? I have a metric ton of stuff on my plate right now and, and- shit, I’m not like you.” She scrunched up her face, “I’m an alien. I just- look, I never found a good way to break the news. It’s not something you just mention while ordering Chinese take-out.”

Captain Sonia stood firm, “So you were afraid that he’d either run away or shout out your secret from the nearest rooftop?”

“At least- look, at least with an escort, there’s a finical incentive, professional integrity and-” Kara slapped Captain Sonia on the shoulder with her towel, “don’t give me that this-is-some-kinda-bullshit look. It’s not like I picked up some random college kid from a street corner. Stars above, he’s with an escort company. A highly respected one that knows a thing or two about customer discretion.”

She raised her chin with disapproval, “Regardless ma’am, I still feel that relying on prostitution is beneath you. If you really want to love humanity, then you have to love humanity as it is now.”

“Oh, fuck off Captain. Pardon me for wanting to feel something more than just a chunk of battery-powered plastic between my legs in my own bed, even if it’s fake and paid for.”

* * *

Warm and claustrophobic air hug licked every inch of Gena’s skin as she walked down the street at night. While the summer was now in full bloom, the summer breeze apparently hadn’t gotten the memo and its absence was starting to get unbearable. Puddles of sweat were forming in the nooks and crannies of her body, spilling over every now and then and tickle over her skin. The only good part about her undercover outfit was that it left little to the imagination and allowed her body to breathe sort of speak. However, the trade-off was a pair of shorts that clung to her hips like a coat of paint.

“Hey Gena, how you doin’ girl?” a hooker called from across the street.

She just waved and smiled back, not stopping for a conversation. While crimson appeared to have more or less vanished from the streets after the clash between the Lost and Vagos a couple of weeks back, the hooks still ran deep in Gena. She’d been subtle and discreet in her visits to the confiscated batch that Power Girl had brought in. Only a small rock here and there, never a bag. However, she’d started to run out of plausible excuses for her visits and the risk that Sgt. Richard Bucknell, the night shift evidence lockup officer, would flag it was too big for her comfort. Plus, word on the precinct was that they’d invite Power Girl over to destroy the bulk of the batch as a publicity stunt, even going as far as overriding the protests of Eve Kanagy, the Assistant District Attorney. Apparently, her heat vision would make quite the show of it.

“I don't know where I'm going,” Gena said as she hugged herself, “but I sure know where I've been.”

Catcalls rang behind her as she rounded a corner, not all that unusual in the streets of Davis. Under the pretense of scouting out the market for any trace of a potential crimson comeback, Gena wanted to both succeed and fail at the same time. Failure meant that she’d be one step closer to being free, either by coming clean or falling back on meth as a workaround. With meth in her system, the standard drug tests suddenly became a clear and present danger. On the other hand, if she succeeded in finding crimson, the hooks would only sink in deeper, yet her life would be so much easier. At least until the high wore off.

“Ah, there’s a pretty bird,” a man said as he snatched Gena’s wrist.

She turned, hand raised and ready to slap a full palm right across the face. Their eyes met and she froze. Even under the shadows of the side street, Gena recognized him, the man she let go at Murietta Heights. A few seconds ticked by before she yanked herself free, “The hell you want, creep?”

“I wanna have you meet my buddy,” Wade said with a wide grin on his face.

Gena scoffed and gave him a look, “Screw you,” she said as she started to walk away.

“Now, now, now birdie,” Wade half jogged after her, “we-we can make an arrangement, yeah?”

“No,” Gena didn’t even give him the pleasure of looking at him.

“Talk to my buddy and I’ll give ya some red rocks…” the words came out like a tempting little tune.

She paused, fingers coiled and tightened their grip on her purse strap. Teeth found her lower lip, “Just talk?”

“Just talk, ya can walk away with some pretty rocks in that cute little purse of yours even if ya don’t like what my buddy says.”

“Al-alright, just talk.”

Wade slapped his hands as if he’d just sealed a deal, “You got it birdie, right this way here.”

They went deeper into the side street until they arrived at a black van. Just about every warning bell and whistle were blaring off on all cylinders inside Gena’s head. She wanted to move, just turn on her heel and walk away yet her legs were as if cast in concrete. Wade knocked on the side of the van a few times and the back door swung open. Inside was a tiny young man if that was the proper phrase. He looked almost like a kid to Gena, though there was something about his eyes. Intelligent eyes that had lived a harsh life. He wore what looked like a very large military issue pistol against his frail chest. Gena cleared her throat, “So, what’s the deal?”

“Same as before, we’ll trade crimson to you in exchange for info on the cops,” Wade said with a grin.

“Wade shut the fuck up,” the kid slapped Wade in the back of his head. “I need to get into the police communication system. Can you do that?”

“I-” Gena started, the words got jammed in the back of her throat, “I- think so, yeah.”

Wade snapped his fingers and laughed, “See, told ya this birdie would sing us a song.”


	16. War on Drugs

The sound of muffled and dulled gunshots nudged their way into Ryan’s car. In some futile attempt to keep the desert heat away, the worn air condition in his car was on full blast. All it really did was vomit out lukewarm air into the car, the artificial breeze rattled Ryan’s clothes. Underneath that fashionable shirt was a sad frame made of thin skin and tired bones. His face was shaded with a doziness that would need a full kettle of coffee to wash off. Ryan had never been a fan of coffee, even if he drowned out the taste with sugar and cream. Still, he needed to keep up appearances and with no coffee ready at hand, Ryan turned to the good stuff; amphetamine. The white, anonymous-looking pills rattled in their little cylindrical box until a few snuggled into his palm. Then a few more joined them before they vanished into his mouth.

He stretched and yawned in his seat, a lazy hand ran across the air condition vents, the busy air tickled between his fingers. As the effects started to kick in, Ryan left the car and approached the airfield hangar. A decent sized group of bikers were lined up doing target practice while Talia paced back and forth behind them, supervising. Even though she was the only one moving, there was something about the fluidity of her movements that made her fade from Ryan’s vision. Regardless he wasn’t here for her, instead, he headed inside and removed his sunglasses. Bridgette stood by a crude workbench looking over a disassembled gun. It wasn’t until Ryan cleared his throat that she actually looked up and noticed him.

“How are we doing?”

She set her palms down flat on the table, looming over her weapon, “Through Talia's contacts abroad we’ve secured a stash of weapons, and she’s giving the guys some training now. Been at it since dawn.”

“Good, good. This probably goes without saying, but…” Ryan scratched the side of his chin, a small cut from his shaving cracked open as a result, “with the loss of the previous shipment, the money reserve has dried up. We need the next shipment to bring in money or we’re out of business.”

Bridgette shrugged, “Not that bad all things considered. If we don’t end up in jail or dead, I’d call it a win.”

“Problem is,” he tapped his fingers on the table, “Talia’s buddies haven’t been paid yet. And if they don’t get their money, well…”

“That’s just a fuckin’ riot, now isn’t it?”

Ryan was about to leave when Bridgette’s hand snatched around his pencil-thin wrist. She pulled him close and whispered, “Between you and me, I feel that Aaron kid relies a little too much on technology and on top of that I think we’re expanding too big, too fast. I mean, boot camp? Military-grade weapons? This can get real nasty, real fast Ryan. There’s gonna be a lot of sharks out there.”

He shrugged and said, “There is no discharge in this war.”

* * *

“Look, guys, guys,” Karen’s words got muffled behind her hands as she tried to rub brainstorming fatigue from her face, “is it a social network? Could we call it microblogging? This idea of yours is hard to define because it isn't replacing anything.”

The two youngsters looked at one another, shrugged and one of them said, “The best definition we have is 'a short burst of inconsequential information,' because that's exactly what the product is.”

She sighed and twisted in her chair side to side as she looked on the scribbled notes on the whiteboard. It was barely readable, though Karen did give them credit for having a lot of passion for their little brainchild even if it was the main reason the whiteboard was such a mess. Young tech enthusiasts came to StarrWARE in hopes of a foot in the door to fame and fortune. Sure, they could do it on their own, but having the support of professional developers and promoters was more and more appealing as the market started to flood with indie app developers for the iPhone. And in broad, general strokes Karen didn’t mind the idea of hosting services, at least in the beginning until they needed to expand. However, she did like to know just what she was hosting and how it could be pitched to the masses.

In the corner of her eye, Karen caught a glimpse of a live news feed. The breaking story of the minute was an intense shootout between two rival gangs. She shifted the focus of her hearing away from the two young men and towards the TV on the far side of the room. As they shifted from the studio to the live helicopter broadcast, Karen straightened in her chair. Despite the somewhat out of focus feed and occasional shaky camera work, Karen quickly noticed that this wasn’t an ordinary shootout. From what she could tell, it was the Vagos and the Lost duking it out and what stood out the most was the Lost’s gun discipline. A little rough around the edges, yes, but they still moved and handled their guns almost like rookie police officers.

One of the men asked in a consciously raised voice for Karen’s attention. She just raised a finger, silently asking him to hold his tongue while she remained fixated on the TV. A police officer got shot and was pinned down behind his patrol car as the Lost pressed on, driving the Vagos back. Her fingers drummed on the table, a lone fingernail scratched against the edge of her teeth, “I’m- look, let’s take a break,” she cast a quick glance at the two men and hastily left the room.

Karen climbed the stairs to the roof three steps at a time, kicking off her shoes somewhere along the halfway mark. Buttons popped and fabric tore as she struggled to get out of her navy-blue business suit. Frantically her hands rummaged through her bag, the cold metallic fluid of her bracelets coiling itself up over the back of her hand while her fingers tried to get a hold of her cape. As soon as the door the roof swung open, the bag dropped to the floor like dead weight and Power Girl took to the skies. She’d barely stopped her accent before she pivoted around and took off like a bullet. Below her, the city streets and buildings vanished into a greyish blur with the occasional color spot darting by. Air scraped against her knuckles, dragged stubborn talons through her short blonde hair before it tried ever so hard to tear away from her cape.

Her flight had taken her from the heartland of Rockford Hills to the southern tip of Rancho in just a handful of seconds. Naked feet slammed into the asphalt when Power Girl landed next to the injured police officer. She hunched over, shielding him with her large frame as best she could while she examined the wound. The thick smell of blood was so strong she could practically taste it on her tongue. Carefully Power Girl’s hands tried to work out how to get the officer stable enough to get him out of harm’s way. A few times she shot quick glances around to see if anyone, friend or foe was approaching.

“Look, you’re going to be okay- just- stay with me, okay?” she said to the officer while a blood-stained hand swung her cape over her head. The officer nodded with rigid determination, it was clear that he was going to fight to the bitter end.

Her expression hardened, “I need you to- look, you have to move your hand and… uh, here bite on my finger because this is going to hurt like a sonofabitch.”

Terror overtook his face, teeth rattled like a gatling gun gone amok and yet he did what he was told. Hesitantly he lifted his hand with Power Girl’s finger in his mouth. Power Girl was quick to cover the wound with her cape as a makeshift bandage. A sharp pinch cut through her fingers, her skin grew as white as the officers’ teeth that dug into it. The last remains of her breakfast bellowed in the back of her throat, but somehow, she managed to swallow down leaving only the sour aftertaste of stomach acid in her mouth.

“Look, I- I honestly don’t know how long that will last, but I’ll have to get you out of here,” she said as she put his hand on her bundled-up cape. “Press down on this and I’ll fly us over there, okay?”

Without waiting for confirmation, Power Girl scoped the officer up in her arms as if the burly man was a bride. A broad arm latched around her neck and shoulders, which she took as an okay for launch and with a large leap, she joined the other officers. A couple of cops took over their injured colleague when a stray bullet hit Power Girl right in the temple. Furious she jumped up, fist raised high and came down on a Vagos car like a ten-ton hammer. Fast and systematically Power Girl went after the Vagos gang members, grabbing them and slamming them into cars or the pavement. Her hands went after their guns whenever she could, though it was easier to just go for the center of body mass and slam them into submission.

Seeing how the tides of the fight had turned, the Lost saw their window of opportunity to split. As the last Vagos member dropped his gun and got on his knees with his hands on his head, Power Girl kept an eye on him until the police could put him in handcuffs. She surveyed the street with a glare, her hands were condensed to a pair of trembling fists. Almost instinctively one of her hands reached for her ear, ready to engage the police radio for further instructions. The hunt was on and there was no way she’d let it slip. Power Girl’s fingers faltered, unable to find her earpiece and a sharp groan, loaded with frustration shot through her clenched teeth.

“Hey, officer!” she walked up to an officer who was on the radio, “Where to?”

“I’m not sure ma’am, we’re getting contradictory messages on the radio,” she looked at Power Girl with a frown. “Didn’t know you were on duty today, ma’am.”

“Yeah, well…” Power Girl rested her hands on her hips, “saw the news and couldn’t just sit on my ass watching this shitstorm unfold.”

“Right… well, please stand by for now ma’am.”

* * *

Lucy Villanueva closed the door to Bailey’s behind her and with it shutting out the majority of the world and its twisted problems. Other patrons gave some short nods as she walked by, Lucy returned the greeting with a tired hand. In the far back corner of the memorial wall, she found the one and only booth in the place where a man was already waiting for her. Jamie Biron was as usual dressed well. For the short time they’d known each other, Lucy never figured him as someone that was conspicuous about his wealth. Then again, he isn’t especially concerned about keeping it hidden, either. He’s aged well, most people would easily shave off ten years when taking a guess.

“Mr. Biron,” her greeting was polite, yet with a tired and beat undercurrent to it. Lucy stills wore her beat uniform, its only decoration commemorating her ten years on the force.

“Appreciate that you meet me like this, even after hours,” Mr. Biron said. A moment slithered between the two of them, then another. Finally, he reached for the menu, “Can I get you anything?”

“Truth and justice, but I don’t think you can afford it.”

Mr. Biron smiled faintly, his hands hesitated with the menu before putting it back again, “Right, should we just wait for the others or…?”

Lucy looked at her watch, adjusting the angle on her wrist so she could read it through the scratched-up glass, “Their shift should have ended, don’t think they’re far off unless traffic is a bitch. Again.”

Silence sunk down over the booth, the hushed talks between other patrons and some anonymous instrumental music barely scratched against the quiet. Lucy’s eyes drifted around, away from Mr. Biron and cast a tired shade over everything she saw. The worn and torn door that leads to the bathroom, unisex. Bailey’s was just a tad too small to have two bathrooms, not that it mattered though. It was primarily a cop bar so most were like uncles and aunts, cousins and siblings. Adults knew better than to throw a fit over something that silly. The wall over the booth was crowded with pictures of officers’ dead and gone. A select few of old age, far too many in the line of duty.

The awkward silence was starting to slide into the uncomfortable levels by the looks of Mr. Biron’s fidgeting and faint squirms in his seat. Lucy on the other hand just sat there, bleeding out fatigue all over the table and floor. Their little moment of peace and uncomfortable quiet skittered away like a scared rat when Victor Trent, Doug Dawkins, and Janice Cole joined them, “Let me tell you, the street lights have it in for me. Every intersection, every single one of them gave me a red light,” Janice said as she dropped into the booth right next to Lucy.

Lucy shifted slightly in her seat and sent a subtle, yet disapproving glare at Janice as Doug and Victor shuffled together on Mr. Biron’s side. They ordered some drinks and snacks before diving into the usual social pleasantries; how work was, are the kids doing okay and similar safe topics. Roughly around halfway through their snack plate, Mr. Biron took the reins of the conversation and steered it towards why they were meeting in the first place. He was passionate about the whole neighborhood watch program he’d started, that much was apparent by how he talked about it. It was as if he bloomed to life, face bright and eyes that had an optimistic shine to them that Lucy hadn’t seen in her bathroom mirror for several years.

“So that is next week, on Thursday,” Mr. Biron took notes in a book, “Doug, you’ll come to the meeting and give us some first aid pointers. Right, right…”

From across the table, Lucy's gaze floated from Mr. Biron to Doug, the two were so far apart even if they sat shoulder to shoulder. In contrast to Mr. Biron, Dough doesn’t seem to have enough disposable income to be a fashion plate, but he cleans up well enough when he’s not in his professional gear. As far as Lucy was concerned, his only problem was that he can’t shake the smell of the job. Doug smelled of antiseptic covered with scented soaps and aftershave.

“Oh, and before I forget, Jamie?” Janice said the white straw from her drink still close on her lips, “The- that Jimmy kid your guys caught a while back, he’s lying about the weed.”

Mr. Biron looked up from his notebook and blinked, “You sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure he’s lying... I’m a lawyer, it’s my business to know these things.”

“Alright then, if you say so. I’ll pass it on to the guys, it’d be a great morale boost.”

Lucy nodded her chin at Mr. Biron, “What do you need a morale boost for?”

“Uh… the big shootout that was earlier this week? Between- what was it again? Va- Vagos? And, uhm… those bikers.”

“The Lost,” Lucy supplied to which Mr. Biron made an appreciative gesture. “Can’t say I blame them, the streets in certain parts of town are getting pretty intense with more gangs, more drugs and now… more guns.”

“Yeah, we-” Mr. Biron sighed heavily, a gust of helplessness seems to deflate the man. “All we can really do is try to diffuse the situation until the police arrive. Hard to do when the gangs are shooting at one another. I suppose it’d be easier if we were bulletproof and super strong like Power Girl.”

Lucy scoffed into her beer, “Even then you wouldn’t be able to do jack shit because of all the red tape.”

Victor lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “I’d say that if we had a dedicated team of super-powered individuals, they’d have their own rules of engagement. At least once they get deployed and given a green light.”

“You don’t believe that’s possible, right? To pass on what it can do to a human?” Doug said before he shrank down in his seat again once everyone’s eyes were on him.

“It’s not that I don’t believe. I’ve seen what it can do too. It’s just that I think there’s a better explanation for its powers than ‘ahh, magic!’”

“Yeah, well,” Lucy put her empty glass on the table with a firm thud, “that bitch should really be cut loose if you ask me. The only thing those dumb banana heads understand is brute fucking force. If that bimbo isn’t up for the job, I’d be happy to take over and show her how it’s really done. It’s been a pleasure folks, but I gotta get home to my little girl.”

* * *

Power Girl rammed into a Vagos gang member, her shoulder collided with his and he fell off balance. As he tumbled down, his head slammed into the hood of a car, the gun clattered with a dead metallic sound as it slipped from his hand. She left the man groaning and twisting on the ground as she shifted her focus on the next target. The Lost members fell back through side streets and backyards, covering one another as Power Girl made a steady approach. She flinched and grimaced in pangs of pain as they landed shot after shot on her. Their aim was fairly consistent, most going for the center of body mass while every now and then a brave one took a shot at her head. The only sign of injury on her body was red irritated patches of skin where the bullets had just hit, along with some partially healed bruises from a previous shooting.

She set her eyes on a biker that was particularly annoying with his steady aim and heavy-duty revolver. He kept walking backward parallel to a house wall, planting shot after shot into Power Girl’s chest and shoulders. Aside from jerking slightly backward from the impact, she kept her stride consistent along with her glare. The back of her eyes and eye sockets glowed with a sunset orange when she finally saw her window of opportunity. A beautiful thing about revolvers is that most of the time, they pack six shots. It made it easy to keep track of when your opponent would have to stop for a quick reload. Her feet kicked off and, in a flash, she was right in front of the biker, hands ready to pick him up and shake him like a ragdoll.

Just as her fingers could barely feel the sturdy leather of his west, Power Girl caught a glimpse of some dark shadow emerging through the pouring rain. From around the corner, the revolver biker had just passed, a girlfriend of his stood ready with a shotgun. Before Power Girl could react, she planted a load smack in her ribs. The angry roar of the shotgun stabbed into her sensitive ears as the searing pain of the impact spread like wildfire over her nerves. She staggered, a hand reached down to her throbbing ribs on reflex. Another shot came, then another. Never given a chance to properly steel herself or find a solid footing in the soaked lawn that they were fighting, Power Girl stumbled and faltered backward.

“Yeah, bitch! Die, die, die!” the young woman shook the shotgun high over her head in triumph before she fled.

“Owh, owh, owh… I’m going to feel that one in the morning…” Power Girl groaned and tried to get out of the bushes she’d landed in.

A good twenty feet ahead of her she saw the two bikers climb over a wooden fence that probably hasn’t seen a fresh set of nails in half a decade and a coat of paint in twice that time. Her lips drew back in a snarl, jaw clenched and she shot out of the bushes like a cannonball. Wooden splinters and shattered planks flew far and wide as she came after the bikers with a vengeance. Power Girl caught the revolver biker in a headlock of steel and sliced the shotgun in half with her heat vision the second she got a fix on it. While the biker in the headlock put on a good fight, Power Girl steeled herself and he might as well try to shove a mountain out of the way. What Power Girl realized all too late was that in the struggle, the biker had kicked his revolver over to his girlfriend.

“Don’t,” Power Girl sneered even as she looked down the barrel of the gun.

“Do it!” the biker wheezed through gritted teeth, “take the fucking shot!”

The revolver went off three times, not one shot landed on Power Girl. To be fair, one did whiz by her ear. Shattering glass and screams managed to pierce through Power Girl’s ringing ears and the color drained out of her face. Behind her was a house with two bullet holes in it and a broken window. Over the smell of the humid rain and gunpowder, Power Girl noticed the smell of blood seeping out from the house. Panicked and frantic screams between voices along with cries of a toddler made the blood in her veins run cold. Without a second thought, she discarded the biker as if he was but a broken toy and headed straight inside.

If the back door to the house was locked, Power Girl didn’t notice, she just shoved it open with a firm determination. Sheltered from the rain, the water on her skin felt very cold as it slithered down the length of her arms. A pool of dark red was growing underneath an elderly man, a younger couple stood over and kneeling beside him. The young woman’s whole face lit up as she saw Power Girl standing in the doorway, “Please, you’ve got to help my dad.”

Power Girl kneeled down by the side of the man, flinging her cape over her head and used it to press against the wound, “Dispatch, this is PG. I’m going to need an ambulance at Grove Street… we have a ten thirty-nine. Subject is a- an elderly number one male, about five feet five.”

Minutes dragged on like a train of everlasting and uneventful Sunday afternoons before the paramedics arrived. Power Girl stepped back and let them do their job as soon as they arrived, the tension that had been building up in her entire frame finally seemed to deflate out of her. She chewed on a fingernail, eyes darting from patient to paramedic and back again, “How does it look doc? Is he going to make it?”

“We’ll- we’ll do what we can, ma’am,” one EMT said, struggling to look at her as he spoke. The way his hands worked through his bag of equipment suggested that he had the routine down, but something was throwing him off balance.

She nodded, “Look, just treat it like any other job. It’s nothing special just because I’m on the scene.”

Power Girl walked from the room, pacing around in the kitchen instead as she listened to the radio. A set of bloodstained fingers pressed against her ear. Her hearing was still ringing from the shotgun blasts so it was hard to catch the details of radio transmissions regarding the pursuit of the bikers. Even so, there was something off. It was just that Power Girl was unable to put her finger on what. At least the Vagos members were going to the lock-up, so that was a comfort if nothing else. She rubbed her shoulder, her face flared up along with the pain that seemed to drill into her bones when she caught the patient looking up at her. Even from a distance, Power Girl didn’t need telescopic vision to see that the man was struck with awe, yet his eyes were at the same time clouded with dread.

“Don’t look at that, look at me. Look at me. You’re going to be fine, I know what I’m doing,” the EMT said with a soothing and professional tone.

The man turned a set of drowsy eyes on the EMT and Power Girl could have sworn that she saw the faintest hint of a smile in the outermost corner of his mouth. Then a thick mist ran over his eyes, his chest deflated and there was nothing. A fraction of a second had passed before Power Girl was snapped out of the peaceful moment and the EMT’s started working fanatically to pull the man back through death’s door. They barked words and phrases at one another, exchanged syringes and equipment. It was like they had a never-ending supply of things they could pull out of their bags. Their voices grew more desperate with each passing second, hands snapped around like angry bullwhips.

Power Girl just stood there in the kitchen, looking on at the scene. EMT’s stern commands mixed with the cries of a toddler and pleading questions from the young mother. It turned to a thick, muffled soup in her ears, the ringing from the shootout gradually overwhelmed all other sounds until it suddenly without warning stopped. She blinked and looked outside. The sight of the rain coming down like a waterfall acted like a reminder to her brain and the sound of heavy rain was all she heard.

* * *

Clouds of steam tumbled out of the water boiler, the gurgling water rattled inside of it well after the power switch clicked off. Karen shuffled slightly the side so Nico could get his water, her face showed that her mind was a million miles away. Even her hand seemed to be on autopilot as it aimlessly stirred yogurt, honey, and walnuts together in a glass. The steam fogged up Nico’s glasses as he looked at her over his coffee cup, “A penny for your thoughts.”

“Mm? Oh, it’s nothing,” she gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Right, well I hope you’re not regretting having the gym equipment reinstalled in the office,” he lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “people would probably riot if you bailed out on them.”

“No, it’s not that,” she ate a spoonful of yogurt, “it’s just- whenever I look at this stupid problem it refuses to make sense. I’m missing something here.”

Nico nodded sympathetically, “What’s the problem? I mean, two minds are better than one, right?”

“Look at the facts first,” Karen waved her spoon at Nico as she spoke, “Vagos and Lost are shooting each other to pieces, the police responds- along with Power Girl. Most of the Vagos members get rounded up, yet the Lost just… puff.”

A moment dragged on in silence. Nico took a long slurp of his coffee, a slightly puzzled frown took shape on his face as he said, “This is about yesterday’s news?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Huh, okay. I just- thought, well that whatever was eating you was either work-related or something in your personal life,” he scratched the backside of his head for a moment. “In any case, it could be a breach of security. Police channels were once sacred ground… But with new technology, that's not the case. Things are much more vulnerable.”

Karen’s eyes went wide with this realization, “Look, you’re not suggesting that a bunch of half-drunk bikers somehow managed to tamper with police communications, are you?”

Nico shrugged and headed up the stairs, Karen followed close behind, “Probably a kneejerk thought from my end, I work with security so that’s the first thing that comes to mind. Is the system safe? If it is, great, the problem is elsewhere. If it isn’t, can we fix it and how fast?”

“It is something I haven’t considered,” Karen admitted between spoonsful of yogurt, “I’ll dig around some more. Thanks for the tip, Nico.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing actual work and let the police worry about stuff like that?”

She shot him a grin with the spoon stuck between her teeth, “My code is compiling.”

Karen wasted little time and started doing some research online. It didn’t take long before she had a list of incidents where there had been break-ins into police communications in the past. Although in most cases it seemed like the harmless work of a few pranksters, police always said the security breaches could have serious consequences. In one of the most serious cases in recent months, a hacker interfered with a Los Santos Highway Patrol pursuit of a tagger in Little Seoul. The rogue broadcast delayed officers' calls for backup. By the time police units arrived, the tagger had slipped away.

“Yeah, looks like it definitely interrupted the pursuit,” Karen rested her chin on her palm. “An officer could be out there with something overwhelming happening, and if he cannot get on the air... It could cost somebody their life.”

An investigation into the incident led CHP investigators to arrest a sixty-three-year-old businessman. The news article stated that he is currently the subject of an investigation by Los Santos County sheriff's officials into more than a hundred breaches of their radio channels over the last year. Karen found another example where last summer, a hacker posing as a police officer warned of shots fired near City Hall, prompting police to evacuate portions of the civic center and seal off surrounding streets as they combed the area for a possible gunman.

There was a polite knock on the door and Karen looked up from her monitor, blinking to moisture her contact lenses. Nico stood in the doorway, shoulder bag hanging by his side and a weathered umbrella in hand, “Sorry to bother you Ms. Starr, but is it okay that I go home early today? My kid is homesick and-”

“Go, go. I don’t mind, but- what was it again? That thing- Are the server updates done?”

He checked his watch, “Yeah, or they will be rolled out after office hours. I’ll remote in from home to check in on it if I get the chance. How did your little research go by the way?”

“Looks like you were right,” Karen said as she stretched in her chair, “and it looks like it's becoming more prevalent because you're getting more people out there who like to mess around with radios and the technology has become more sophisticated. Still, though, they’re a biker gang…”

“Ms. Starr, just because they’re tempering with radio communications doesn’t mean they have a tech wizard in their ranks. An officer will leave their radio lying inside their car, and someone will snap it up. It doesn’t have to be more advanced than that. Usually, they can use it for a few days and the battery will go dead.”

“Yeah, but from what I understand the police are virtually helpless when their radio channels are invaded because some current networks lack the security features of newer ones,” she stretched out her legs in front of her. “Overriding the messages is impossible without cutting off some officers' access to the frequency. Officers who try to talk over the hackers only broadcast garbled messages.”

He held his finger up to his lips, mulling something over in his head before he said, “Assuming there is one, catching those kinds of hackers is notoriously difficult. Law enforcement officials must be prepared to track the transmission when it begins if they hope to pinpoint the source. Who knows? They might put Power Girl on the job.”

Karen straightened in her chair, raising her head to attention, “Look at you, thinking outside the box. And why would they do that?”

Nico twisted the wedding ring on his finger, “She’s got the mobility for it and it’s better than spending millions of dollars on a new radio system that will encrypt police frequencies and better protect channels from invasion. Any official that pushed that line would get the PR bonus of using someone as flashy as Power Girl as well as saving those precious tax dollars. Anyway, I better get going. See you tomorrow Ms. Starr.”

“Yeah, take it easy Nico,” she waved him goodbye and once she was certain he was out of sight, her smile faded to a more serious look. Her fingers started dancing over the keyboard again, a new set of windows popped up on the screen as Karen searched for tracking transmissions and technical specs for radio equipment.


	17. The Vigil

“She was right there,” Doug drew in a long breath, “with all her powers, bells and whistles and she did nothing.”

Across the table sat Lucy and Victor. He’d caught on that something was really eating Doug when he came to investigate the crime scene. From there Lucy deduced that Victor had suggested that they should stick together, offer one another their shoulders. People in their line of work tended to do that for the option was to bottle it all up inside as the world’s crude wheels ground you to dust. Granted Lucy was both a woman and a mother but wiping snot from her daughter’s nose was one thing. Doing the same on a grown-ass man was another, even if it was Victor who called in the favor.

“She didn’t even collect her cape,” Victor said.

“Damn, why not?”

Doug shifted in his seat, sniffing, “Maybe- maybe because it was dirty with blood?”

“A makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding, not that it would have mattered. The bullet wreaked havoc on the poor man’s organs.”

Lucy nodded, the ice cubes in her drink clattered. Bailey’s was very quiet this evening, the streets were tense with the sewerage of society vomiting up all manners of filth. Most people would just check out and head straight home. Your fellow officers or partner knew and understood what you saw out there on the beat, in the dark alleys and shady side streets. But there were times when the going got so tough, you’d just want to cuddle in a blanket of love. Family, friends and even pets didn’t need to know, they didn’t need to understand. They just had to be there. Too bad for Doug that he had none.

“Shitter is clogged and the plumber isn’t pulling her goddamn weight,” Lucy’s hands squeezed into fists.

“You think Power Girl should have been…” Victor paused to search for the proper phrase, “firmer with the criminals?”

“You’re goddamn right.”

Doug wrapped his arms around himself, shutting out a bitter internal chill or at the very least trying to, “What about you Victor? You were there, saw the scene. How do you judge her?”

“I don’t know the full extent of her powers, but…” he scratched the side of his nose ever so slightly, “it’s possible that she ought to have done things differently. Disengage, circle around or something to that effect.”

“Or she could have just crushed some skulls, broken some bones and that’d be the end of that,” Lucy cut in.

“I believe she’s been deliberately trying to avoid excessive violence against people,” Victor leaned back in his chair, “for it reflects badly on her. It’s safer to go for the gun, not the shooter.”

Doug clutched his chest, “A man died Victor. A family watched their father- a toddler saw his granddad die on the living room floor.”

Victor remained perfectly still in his seat, his tall and lanky frame carefully wrapped with the fashion sense of an English professor, tweed and all. It’d started as a running joke, Lucy checking out Victor to see whether he’d turned to stone while no one was watching. She still did it, though there was a shine to her when she did. Gone were the quick, curious glances. They lingered now, never to the point of staring or gawking, but just that one second too long. Victor’s habit of not making unnecessary movements, preferring to stand still and let information present itself had grown to become a soothing, stable element in Lucy’s otherwise chaotic and hectic life. A stable rock, a lighthouse would be welcome in her home. Especially now that the rebellion of adolescence has begun in Dawn, her daughter.

“I just- I just can’t sit here and do nothing.”

“You do plenty Doug,” Lucy said, somewhat reluctantly shifting her gaze from Victor to Doug.

“Yeah, but I- we ought to do more. Like really go after these sonsofbitches.”

Victor smiled faintly to himself, “Remember med school, Doug? Do no harm, remember?”

“The best defense is a strong offense I say,” Lucy said, scooping up the last of her drink.

“I don’t think striking pre-emptively is something we’re allowed to do.”

“Goddamnit Victor, people are dying out there and- and we have a fucking ten-ton hammer from the other side of the fucking universe at our disposal. What do we do with it?” Lucy pounded her fist on the table, “We tie it the fuck up with red tape and put a goddamn ribbon on it for good fucking measure.”

“What do you suggest, Lucy?” Doug said though the silence that followed made him bury his face in his hands. “We should just take it, huh?”

“No.”

Both Lucy and Doug looked at Victor with puzzled expressions on their faces. The sudden shift in opinion wasn’t really Victor’s style. For all the years Lucy had known him, he’d always said that you don’t get things done by jumping to conclusions and overreacting all the time. Patience, observation, deduction – that’s working smart. Then again, he did have a sharp mind and while Doug and Lucy were wallowing in booze and emotions, Victor stuck to his ice water and logic. He licked his lips and looked at the two of them and said, “If we do this, we have to be smart about it. The chainsaw approach isn’t working, so I suggest we move in with the precision of a scalpel. Take the fight to them before it hits the streets of Los Santos.”

“I can dig that,” Lucy nodded.

* * *

There was no shortage of scumbags and assholes on Lucy’s list of familiar faces. However, finding someone that had sufficient brains and connections to serve a very specific purpose cut off a noteworthy portion of the list. Too dumb and they’ll fuck up, too smart and they can’t be played like a fool. If their connections to the larger criminal underworld were too low or too few, they’d be a piss poor informant. On the flip side, if their connections were either too high up the system or too many, Lucy might end up being the one being played.

It had been a calculated risk, but Lucy had turned to Janice Cole for a second opinion. She’d been around the block enough times to know who they could pressure and how. Together they’d trimmed down the list of candidates until they were left with only one name; Tommy Lanzetta. Tommy’s dad never had much time for him, and when he was around it was better to be seen than heard. He didn’t always know what his father did for a living, only that he was a man who commanded respect. Even still, Tommy grew up proud, so proud that he couldn’t wait to fight the old man on everything. His father is absolutely certain Tommy is good for nothing but trouble, exactly the kind of guy you don’t want in the family. Despite their combative relationship, Tommy still enjoys a life of privilege: money, cars, and access to the best clubs and the family lawyer for when he bites off more than he can chew. He also has any number of “uncles” – half of which aren’t even remotely related to him – who prove useful for getting into and out of all kinds of trouble. Even though he gets along with most of them, everyone is very aware of where their loyalties lie. To them, Tommy’s a good kid who they’ve watched grow into a royal pain in the ass, but if asked they’d put two bullets in the back of his head without a second thought.

The best part was that good old dad had apparently run out of patience. Either that or he didn’t get the memo that his son was in the slammer yet again for some stupid shit. The odd trio found themselves on separate sides of prison bars, Tommy on the inside, Lucy and Janice on the outside. Lucy looked at him as he paced around in his little cell. A thing she quickly noticed was that Tommy didn’t really walk, he strutted around like he was a million dollars in a pair of shoes. Yeah, he was good looking alright, but the way he was so obviously full of himself put a serious damper on his charms and charisma.

“How’s it hanging Tommy?” she raised her chin.

Tommy waggled his eyebrows with a smile, “You two ladies here to keep me company?”

Janice scoffed and crossed the arms across her chest, “You wish.”

“Do you know who I am, lady?”

Lucy stepped between the two, “A sorry sack of human waste that’s on his way to play butthole bingo in state fucking prison.”

“Bullshit,” he threw his hands in the air, “I’m one phone call away from getting back out there, and snorting crack of a pair of fake tits bigger than yours.”

“That’s all your daddy lets you do?” Janice tried to hold back a laugh, “No wonder he decided to ditch you.”

“Hey, fuck that. You ever come to my side of town, I’ll slit your fucking throat bitch.”

Lucy snatched his collar through the bars and slammed his head into the door, “I don’t care what you do on your side of town, but you’re not on your side of town.” 

“The fuck’s your problem?” Tommy wrestled free, trying to rebuild his confidence as he stepped backward.

“Oh, I got several problems, stacked this high,” Lucy held her hand above her head, “and so do you, so how about we help each other out?”

“Ain’t cutting no deal,” Tommy gave her the finger.

“Daddy’s not coming and I can charge a metric ton of shit to your goofy ass, so I suggest you take the deal. We’re going to send your ass riding a fucking bullet all the way to prison if you don’t,” Lucy’s words barely managed to wiggle themselves out between her teeth.

Janice rubbed her temples and turned around. Tommy’s head slowly tilted to the side, his eyes glued to her skirt while his lips shaped into a kiss. Whether it was something he was aware he was doing or not was anyone’s guess, but either way, he said, “Okay, what’s the deal then?”

“Vagos and Lost are shooting each other and everyone in-between to fucking shreds over drugs and territory. Keep your ears to the ground, mouth shut and point us in the right direction. We want to hit the Lost before they reach the city. Do that and you’ll walk out of this cell fast enough to make a breeze.”

“That’s a pretty shitty deal,” Tommy scoffed.

“Oh yeah?” Janice turned and took a few steps closer, “My guess is that your daddy’s Bonelli Mob isn’t all that thrilled over the idea that property prices dive all the way down because of all the blood on the streets. Helping us helps daddy, which in turn allows you to suck on as many fake tits as you want. How about that?”

He leaned closer, “Now that’s a sweet deal.”

* * *

Karen’s office on her yacht had almost always been a mess. Littered with boxes of various computer components, some half-opened others torn apart. Beyond the basic boxes and scattered anti-static bags were about half a dozen computers that looked like they’d exploded with wires and graphics cards hanging out like intestines. Every now and then Karen found the mood to do more than simply move whatever she was currently working on down from her desk and onto the floor. Recently, however, it appeared that things had taken a turn in the opposite direction. Karen had gone out of her way to collect a wide range of equipment related to radio communications, only to promptly disassemble it and leaving bits and pieces high and low.

“Ma’am, if I may?” Captain Sonia said as she stood rigid and formal in the doorway, “Isn’t it about time you took a break?”

“Look at this,” Karen held up one of those instruction papers that started with the size of a matchbox, but grew to be larger than a dining room table as you unfolded it, “why is it in Korean?”

“Is that a problem ma’am?”

“Only Korean. I don’t read Korean, do you?”

Captain Sonia frowned, “I’m afraid not ma’am.”

“Argh!” Karen crumbled the paper into a tight little ball and tossed it after Stinky, “Stupid- did you need anything Captain?”

She sighed, then straightened, “Yes ma’am, I need you to take a break. You’ve been at this little project of yours for three days straight.”

“But I’m so close.”

“Close enough to punch a hole in the walls and floor,” Captain Sonia’s dry and formal tone was more on point than usual. “Considering we’re at sea, I’d preferred if you did not.”

Karen raised a finger in protest, yet no clever counter-argument presented itself in a timely fashion so instead, she said, “Fine, fine. Let’s just do that. I need to cut my bangs anyway, so that’s a good a place to start as any.”

After she’d blasted the Pacific Ocean with her heat vision long enough to get her hair cut, Karen turned to Kimiyo for help. The two women were making small talk when Rose came by to go over the monthly spending, “So as frustrating as it is to not being able to make sense of it all, it’s also kind of fun,” Karen said while Kimiyo’s scissors snipped at her bangs.

“Uh, the repairman for the Jacuzzi has come back to us with a price Ms. Starr…”

“Oh, right. Let me take a look,” she puffed away at her half-cut bangs and looked over the printout. Karen nodded approvingly and as she returned the papers to Rose, she noticed the scars on her wrists. The change from spring to summer had made short-sleeved shirts more or less mandatory on the yacht unless you wanted to wear a near-constant coat of thick sweat. “Do you have any plans for the evening Rose?”

“No, not really. Why?”

“The good captain feels that I could use a break and Kimiyo here suggested Split Sides West Comedy. If you want to join me, you can.”

She brightened, “Really? Is that okay with you Ms. Starr?”

“Sure, we’ll doll ourselves up, catch a bite, have a few glasses of wine and some good laughs.”

“I’ll- I’ll go get ready right away,” Rose said with a beaming smile before she skipped out of the room.

Kimiyo waited a good moment to make sure that Rose had left before she said, “You’re too kind.”

“Is that what it looks like to you? Kindness?”

She put a finger underneath Karen’s chin, gently nudging her to raise it slightly so she could cut the rest of Karen’s bangs. The corner of her mouth quirked up, “For someone who’s bulletproof, you’re remarkably soft.”

“Bullet resilient. Whenever I see those scars I just-,” Karen sighed, “this ball of guilt starts rolling around in my gut. It’s worse with Rose than that poor old man I couldn’t save. Probably because I know Rose or like to think I do anyway.”

Kimiyo’s scissors stopped moving, “Would you like to talk about it? The man that died.”

“No,” Karen nibbled on her bottom lip, “I’d rather not dwell on the past. Feels like I’ll die in the present if I do.”

“Fair enough,” Kimiyo did one last snip with her scissors, “there. All done.”

About half an hour later, Rose came by Karen’s bedroom wearing a simple striped V neck long-sleeved sweatshirt and a pair of brown pants. Her face had been given some light make-up. Nothing flashy, just a few notches above the plain natural look. Karen, on the other hand, was still in her underwear, sitting by the bedside table with a small collection of nail polish in front of her. She seemed to be in deep thought, picking up bottles and examining their labeling closely.

“Ms. Starr? Are- are you ready? What are you doing?”

“…experimenting,” Karen waved her fingers in front of her nose as if she wanted to get a whiff of the smell.

“I- I like the scarlet one, I think it suits you because- uh, it reminds me of your cape.”

Karen smiled at her, “Scarlet it is then.”

The Split Sides West Comedy Club was packed, laughter was loose and everyone seemed to have a jolly good time. By the time Karen and Rose managed to wiggle themselves in, the warm-up act was just about done and the main event for the evening took center stage. It was a bit of a special one they were told by the announcer, for rather than a standard stand-up they’d brought in a singing comedian named Sylvester Pemberton. His act was fairly simple, just him and his guitar. Simple tunes with absolutely hilarious lyrics were just what the doctored ordered. He’d kept the audience in stitches and tears from the first song.

“I’m sure you’ve all guessed by now, in addition to uh… you know, comedy clubs and university shows. I do a lot of elementary schools,” a loud chuckle rolled through the audience, “I’m serious! The kids fucking eat this shit up, they love it.”

Karen giggled from the bar while she waited for the next set of drinks. After paying, she navigated between the small round tables with a Margarita Mocktail in one hand, a Malibu Cocktail in the other and her credit card between her lips, “Here we go. One for you and one for me… Now, where’s my purse?”

Sylvester strung a few tunes on his guitar, nodding happily to himself, “And I uh… like to play for the little five, six-year-olds. And, and when I play for the little chips. That’s right, I said chiplin. I like not only to be entertaining, I like to be informative and I think I make a pretty good role model for the kids. And I like to give them advice and I’m going to share that advice with you here tonight.”

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Karen nudged Rose lightly with her elbow.

“What I tell the kids is… uh, kids,” the last word came out as a sharp squeak that made another wave of laughter wash over the audience. “Kids, when you grow up you can be anything in the world you want to be. It’s true! You can be a doctor, a lawyer, an astronaut, president of the United States of America, even… a superhero.”

She seemed to freeze rock solid at the word, Rose’s expression grew worried while she peered around in the room before looking at Karen for advice. Karen in return just played with her hair and crossed her legs. A carefree smile and a quick wink seemed to make Rose lose some of the tension that had started to build upon her shoulders.

“Wouldn’t that be great kids? To be a fucking superhero?”

“Yeah!” the crowd cheered and clapped.

“If you could be a superhero, who’d you be? Would you be Ironman, Spiderman or Black Widow for some of the guys in the back? I don’t know. Or you could make up one of your very own. Let’s do that right now,” his fingers ran over the strings, “I’ll get you started.”

_If I could be a Superhero,_

_I would be Awesome Man._

_I'd fly around the world fighting crime_

_According to my Awesome Plan._

_And if I saw criminals trying to lie_

_Hurting other people and making them cry_

_I'd haul them off to jail in my Awesome Van._

_Because I would be Awesome Man._

Karen had to admit that the tune was pleasing to the ear, the soft notes complimented Sylvester’s voice in a way that sounded like they’d left the comedy club and were the live studio audience in a kid’s TV show. Soothing and just a touch of nostalgia, it had a remarkable ability to wash the listener away to simpler and easier times. However, if any of his previous songs were to go by, this peaceful normality would soon make way for some hilarious jokes.

Sylvester kept plucking on his strings, that clever smile returned along with a gleam to his eyes, “Now some criminals want you to be a criminal, and they offer you things like drugs and alcohol, but we know to just say no, right?” Silence. He barely held back his own laughter as an adult chuckle rolled through the audience, “You drunk motherfuckers.”

Tears popped out from the corner of Karen’s eyes from the struggle of containing both a small mouthful of drink and her laughter. She trembled and shook, clapping her hands as her face grew redder by the minute. Not missing a beat, Sylvester spotted them under the dim light and said, “Except for the old stone table right here.”

“What was I singing again? Oh, right. Kids let’s pretend drugs and alcohol are bad,” Sylvester’s tone shifted from his honest self to a friendlier kid’s TV uncle, though the rolling waves of laughter got to him and it cracked every now and then. He even shifted to a more formal late 50’s TV announcer as he said, “A public service announcement from Sylvester Pemberton.”

_If I could be a Superhero_

_I would be Drug-Free Boy_

_Telling the world of the evils of drugs_

_And the lives that they destroy_

_And all of the junkies getting so high_

_With their needles and bongs and sticks made of Thai_

_I'd burn them alive and I would squeal with joy_

_Cause I would be Drug-Free Boy_

By the end of the night, both Karen and Rose had a hard time standing straight after all the laughing. The club most certainly lived up to its name. While they waited for Kimiyo to come and pick them up, Karen and Rose enthusiastically went over the many jokes that they’d heard over the show. The laughter and giggle sat loose throughout the drive back home to the point where their cheeks hurt from all the smiling. It followed them well into the night, as at least Karen had problems falling asleep. Whenever sleep was about to softly embrace her, some random punchline popped into her head and she started laughing.

* * *

“Power Girl,” Gena said as she raised the sunglasses to the top of her head, “haven’t seen you in a while.”

She’d made a soft landing just outside the Mission Row Police Station. The two women stopped to chat on the stairway just next to the impound garage. Power Girl kept her greetings to passing officers short and polite, “Look, Gena, I-” she started just as a wailing police siren broke her off. They looked on as a cruiser took off and disappeared down the street. Power Girl sighed, “Okay, let’s try that again. I’ve done some digging around about the Lost.”

“Why? They’re just a bunch of rusty nails. Hammer them down is all we have to do.”

Power Girl half nodded her agreement, “Looks like it might be more to them than meets the eye. Every time we try to hammer them down, they somehow not only manage to get away but…” she hesitated to say the rest.

“But what?”

“Looks to me that they somehow divert police attention away from themselves and towards the Lagos instead.”

Gena squinted in the bright sunlight, swiping a few stray strings of hair from her face as she said over her shoulder, “Girl, they’re a bunch of bikers who are barely sober enough to drive straight. How do they even manage to do something like that?”

“I suspect that they’re tampering with the police radio.”

She whirled around fast enough for her sunglasses to fall to the ground, “How- how did- what makes you think that?”

“Look, it’s just a hunch for now,” Power Girl said while she picked up Gena’s glasses, “I wanted to check with the guys inside about the specs of the radio systems we use.”

“But- Power Girl, aren’t- aren’t you like, just middle management? We take out the trash, that’s all we do. Worrying about- making theories and, and strategies, that’s for the brass to worry about.”

Power Girl inhaled deeply through her nose and held it. Her vibrant blue eyes set their fangs into Gena’s face. It was as if she could see everything, from the mediocre skin foundation to the innermost fiber in her bones. Her lower lip trembled, a pulpy soup of words clogged itself on the back of her tongue. In her ears, she could hear the beating of her heart gaining speed and volume with each passing second. A subtle shift in Power Girl’s expression sent Gena’s mind racing. Maybe it was paranoia or perhaps just a trick of the light, but for a fraction of a second Gena could have sworn she saw just the faintest hint of disappointment on Power Girl’s face.

“You know,” she called after Power Girl’s broad shoulders, “there’s this rumor going about. About cops cutting corners, going after the Lost without- you know, due process.”

“What, you mean like vigilantism?”

Gena nodded and she forced a smile, “Uh-huh. Apparently, they-they think you’ve gone soft on crime and decided to take matters into their own hands.”

“That- look, that doesn’t make any sense what so fucking ever,” Power Girl spread her arms out in frustration, “I got shit for not playing by the rules and now they do it?”

She shrugged, “That was then, and this is now. Welcome to the double standards of the human race.”

“Stars above, I’ll look into this myself. Thanks, Gena,” Power Girl said before she took to the skies.

Left alone on the stairs, Gena looked down on her sunglasses and bit down on her lower lip. Fatigue started at the top of her face and tickled itself down all the way to the tip of her toes while she fished out her phone. The dead tack sound from the buttons sounded like gunfire as she navigated through the contact list. Finally, her selection highlighted the name, Wade. Slowly her finger dragged itself towards the call button and once there it lingered on top of it for the longest time, “I can be free…”

“Is that my pizza?”

“What? Hell, no Wade, it’s Gena. We need to talk.”


	18. The Hunt Begins

Gravity’s grip on Power Girl’s muscular frame was particularly firm as she hadn’t fully recovered her energy reserves after her visit to the comedy club a few days prior. To compensate she took to the skies in tall leaps, hopping from one rooftop to the next and occasionally half running up along walls. Even if she was in great shape, the fact that she couldn’t blindly use her powers as a crutch was starting to wear her down. Her blue boots scraped against the roof as she landed, deep lungful breaths slowly inhaled and exhaled while Power Girl tried to get her bearings.

“Looks like- wait, what? I’m in Little Seoul?” she wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “Let’s see… La Puerta is down there and Strawberry is over there- how do I get to Forum Drive from here?”

She pivoted around a few times, looking for landmarks that she could navigate from. After a few minutes, Power Girl set a course and ran towards the edge of the roof, kicking off high into the air. Just a tad too late she realized she’d throttled off her flight too early and crashed into the edge of the next building instead of making a graceful landing on the roof. A shockwave of pain flashed through her torso while her arms shot out like a pair of vipers, eager to latch on to something, anything, “Smooth Kara, real fucking smooth. Fly like a butterfly, land like a rhino” she groaned and hoisted herself up.

While she dusted herself off and collected broken pieces of her dignity, Power Girl noticed the throbbing pain from her little crash faded quickly. She looked down at the palm of her hand, “How far can I push myself today? Maybe I should just call it a day and-” the sound of a gun going off caught her ear and she spun around. Her eyes focused, zooming in in the direction of the sound. Less than a second later her feet were already moving, faster and faster until they kicked off from the edge.

The wind rushed through her hair, tugged, and pulled on her cape as she came crashing down. Over the rustling air Power Girl caught bits and pieces of a conversation, flustered words tumbling over one another at a hundred kilometers per hour that were cut off with an indifferent, “Boooooring. Can we just kill this douche already?”

Yet again her landing wasn’t particularly graceful as she rolled forward, only to end up smacking into the side of a car. The blaring car alarm she triggered, as annoyingly loud as it was, proved to be a blessing in disguise. A trio of people who were ganging up on a lonesome Lagos member by the carwash turned their attention towards the sound. Underneath Power Girl’s boots, the pavement cracked as she kicked off, eyes dead set on the one gun she could see. Once her hand wrapped around it, she promptly pointed it towards the ground and squeezed. Her jaw clenched, the metal of the gun stubbornly resisted until finally, it yielded. As the gun dropped to the ground with a dull clatter, Power Girl let out a harsh breath, “What the fuck’s wrong with you, officer?!”

A moment of silence, everyone was dumbstruck until the Vagos member managed to collect his wits and said, “Oh-la-la, bitch fight.”

“Sir,” Power Girl loomed closer with an accusing finger, “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll shove my fist so deep down your throat, you’ll be shitting teeth for a month. You picking up what I’m putting down?”

He shrank from her finger, heels scraping against the pavement, “Ye-yes ma’am…”

Power Girl turned her attention to the woman who had the gun. She wasn’t tall, but her badge and the chip on her shoulder added up to an intimidating presence. A faint smell of lilac tickled from her as a soft breeze strolled through the group. The two women exchanged glares at one another for a moment before Power Girl said, “Dispatch PG here. I’ve got a ten-thirty-eight on the carwash on Innocence Boulevard and, uh… I’m going to need a pick-up for a number six male, about five feet nine, piss yellow sleeveless shirt, black pants, no hair, and tasteless tattoos on both arms.”

“Well, well, well. Look at you,” the woman said while she crossed her arms over her chest, “calling dispatch and using all sorts of big words.”

“Lady, you’re in the deep end of the shit pool already.”

She faked a tremble, “Oh, I’m so scared. What? Never seen an arrest before?”

“Oh, fuck off, you looked more like a Gestapo shooting a Jewish kid in the ghetto than an officer making an arrest.”

The lady just scoffed as she thrust out her chest, “I made a split-second judgment call.”

“He was on all fours on the ground, the fuck was he supposed to do? Throw pocket sand at you?”

Her expression hardened as she looked on the Vagos member. Terror overtook his face as she said, “Every time I see one of these monsters, I see my daughter’s face. No way is one of those bloodsuckers going to get anywhere near her.”

“Look, not to be Captain Obvious here, but that’s what prisons are for, right?”

“You think it’s that easy, huh? Just bag ‘em and tag ‘em? Prison doesn’t rehabilitate these people. It doesn’t dull their edge. If anything, it hardens them. They exchange ideas, tips, tricks, build networks… fuck girl, there’s a criminal underworld even inside the goddamn prisons.”

For a moment, Power Girl simply nibbled on her bottom lip, “And your solution is just running around like a death squad? What gave you that idea?”

“You did,” a man spoke up.

He’d probably been there the whole time; Power Girl simply hadn’t really noticed him since he’d hardly moved at all since she arrived on the scene. There was something about his vibe that threw her off, like a mannequin dressed up as an English professor. How he could wear all that tweed and not sweat was beyond Power Girl. She shifted from one foot to the other, “And you are?”

“Victor Trent, CSI,” he presented his badge, “though death squad is a bit extreme.”

“Looks to me like you guys are executing scumbags left and right,” Power Girl said. “And I’ve nev- I haven’t killed anyone on duty, so how you got that idea from me I have no clue.”

“Our city is experiencing crisis after crisis that affects the functioning of its social body— the mob is pumping in drugs and the cops are helping the mob,” Victor brushed a stray hair from his shoulder, “How does a society deal with fear and threats? How does the presence of a _heroine_ like you create or threaten stability? Can society-wide conflict ever be resolved or is it inherently a cyclical process?”

“You look like the kind of guy that has it all figured out, so why don’t you tell me?”

He gave a half-smile, “Familiar with Rene Girard? Didn’t think so. Girard claims that the concept of _mimesis_ is both the foundation of all societies and the foundation of conflict in those societies. Girard’s theory claims that one of the most basic aspects of our relationships with other people is imitation. Imitation can be as simple as copying someone else’s behavior: I see you buying someone a badass necklace, and I think “wow, great idea,” and I decide to go buy a necklace too. Everyone’s happy.”

“But this can become a problem. Girard said that imitation of someone else’s behaviors’ can, and often does, lead to replicating their desires. That’s where I don’t just want a necklace — I want that necklace, the one you happen to be wearing. This is _mimetic desire,_ and it can pretty quickly lead to rivalry, where multiple people share the same desire and so compete over finite resources.”

As Power Girl listened to Victor’s rationale, her eyes drifted down the street where she spotted the police cruiser. Quietly she raised her hand to make him stop talking, “Look Victor as interesting as this little debate is, the cavalry has arrived. I’m handing the two of you over to internal affairs. Maybe they’ll have a more sympathetic ear to your rationale.”

She pulled the Vagos member back on his feet and as she made her way toward the cruiser, Power Girl paused to look at the third person that had ganged up on the criminal, “And who are you again?”

“Tommy Lansetta,” he said.

“Cop?”

“Nope.”

“Okay… stick around for questioning, not sure what to do with you yet.”

* * *

“Aaron,” Bridgette called out for the third time. He continued to either ignore her or he didn’t hear her over whatever music his headphones were pumping out. She fished out an ice cube from her glass and tossed it at him.

“What?” he jerked off the headphones and snarled at her.

“Got a call, apparently we’ve been advised to change our setup.”

“Advised?” Aaron's nose wrinkled, “by who?”

“Dunno, some chick we have on the inside apparently.”

He puffed out his chest, “Yeah well, chances are they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

Bridgette tapped her foot for a while, a tested rhythm. Fingers parted the blinds, the parking spot outside their trailer was empty. She rubbed her eyes, perhaps she could find some hidden stock of patience if she just searched long enough, “Aaron, just… can you do it or not?”

“Duh, I just don’t see the point.”

“Okay, how about…” she rubbed her temples, “the one that’s hot on our trail is Power Girl. Ever seen her in action, kid?”

“That hideously muscular lady? A few times on TV.”

“Yeah well, that bitch is crazy ruthless so if tapping a few buttons and twisting some nobs is all it takes to keep her on the other side of the fucking state, you better do it.”

Aaron sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling as he spoke, “You know she isn’t allowed to operate outside of Los Santos, right?”

“No, but even if I did, I’d still take this tip seriously. Adjust the damn setup Aaron, or I’ll start breaking your fingers until you do.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

* * *

The moment Lucy stepped through the front door of StarrWARE she welcomed the sharp blast of cold air from the air conditioner. Los Santos summers were a killer, especially when you walked around in a suit and full pants. Lucy promised herself that she really ought to buy some suits that were of a lighter color. The same promise she made to herself every year since she started at the FBI. She patted down her face with a handkerchief while she waited for the receptionist to be available.

“Yes Ms. Starr, I have a biker currier here asking for you. Mr. MacGrath?”

Lucy noted that the reception area was surprisingly bare; aside from the reception desk itself, there was just a black leather sofa. No other furniture was present unless you counted the giant monitors mounted on the walls which alternated between information slides and shameless self-promoting ads. Not really a bad layout by any means, though thanks to the sheer size of the room it came across as very barren. A second receptionist came out from the back room noticed Lucy and said, “Can I help you miss?”

“Yes, my name is Lucy Kuo, I’m looking for Karen Starr? I don’t have an appointment.”

The receptionist looked at his colleague, “Is she in today?”

“I haven’t seen her, but at least she answered the phone just a minute ago.”

A sound of click-clacking high heels caught Lucy’s attention over the soft instrumental tunes that were played over the speakers. Karen came down the stairs, her eyes fixed on her feet. The long pants she wore just barely hid the fact that she was wearing high heels, a first as far as Lucy was concerned. She’d opted for a simple pale blue shirt with the sleeves partially rolled up and the top button lose. Even without her suit and cape, there was just something about the way she moved. Maybe it was because she walked like a boss or talked like a boss. Though it was apparent to the trained eye that Karen wasn’t comfortable walking around on high heels, her confidence made up for it.

“Here you go, one signature for you and have a nice day. Oh, Lucy. What uh,” she puffed a strain of hair out of her face, “brings you here?”

“Lunch.”

“Wow, and people say I’m assertive when it comes to dating,” she pulled her arm away, narrowly avoiding Lucy’s playful punch. “But uh, sure. Look, just let me put this away and I’ll be right with you.”

Karen spread her arms wide, filling her lungs with air as soon as they got outside, “Rough day at the office?” Lucy said from behind her sunglasses.

“Let’s see… Endless meetings, clients that have a change of heart, memory leaks… ugh, you have no idea.”

“Stupid high heels?”

Karen guffawed for an honest moment before catching herself, “That too. Never really liked these things, I’m tall enough as it is.”

“Listen to you, taking one for the team,” Lucy said while they waited for the light to turn.

“Look, all I’m saying is that it’s just for today. A big client came in today so… put on your Sunday finest I told them. Of course, that meant that I had to practice what I preach. But what made you want to take me out for lunch? You’re totally buying by the way.”

The light changed and the two women crossed the street, “I am not buying, you’re the one with the yacht. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yeah? Fair enough. What do you feel like, Noodle Exchange or Limey’s?”

Lucy huffed, “If I’m paying, whichever is cheapest.”

They settled on the Noodle Exchange after carefully considering the menus and prices. Karen went for Beef Noodle Stir Fry, sparing no expense on the sexual innuendos as she flirted shamelessly with the waiter while Lucy brought the temperature down to more normal levels as she ordered Bang Bang Shrimp Pasta. Even from behind the menu she could tell that Karen had several more already lined up, though for whatever reason that dam didn’t burst today.

“Bye sweetie, come back soon, okay?” Karen said after the waiter, waggling her fingers in the most girlish way possible.

“Listen to yourself, what are you? Fresh out of high school?”

“Looks like someone hasn’t been getting any in a looong time,” Karen said back without missing a beat. It came so suddenly that Lucy almost spat out her water, much to Karen’s amusement.

“Anyway,” Lucy said from behind her napkin, “I heard from Sgt. Mal Lesperance about how you handled the Lucy Villanueva and Victor Trent incident. I’ve got to say, that’s very impressive. I’m proud of you Karen.”

“Right,” Karen snapped her fingers, “the vigilante guys. They- they were really something.”

She tilted her head, “Yeah, how so?”

“Just this Victor fellow going off on some tangent,” Karen said, poking her ice water with her straw, “something about imitation and- what was that guy’s name again? Gi- Girard?”

“Ah, me and my uncle would spend many long hours in front of the fireplace discussing him,” Lucy nodded knowingly.

“Oh, look at you, FBI agent and a scholar,” she folded her hands in her lap as if all of a sudden Karen had become a fine, if not somewhat snobbish lady. “So, what was his deal? Victor was all about some necklace and how that made people happy.”

Lucy took a deep breath, collected her thoughts, and said, “Girard claimed that our human impulse towards imitation meant that eventually, more and more people would want that necklace or whatever and rivalries would grow and multiply until they would become profoundly impactful on the community itself.”

“Because people end up bickering over finite resources, right?”

“Yes. When one person succeeds in winning the prize, the other people seek retaliation against the winner. This vengeance is also a form of imitation, and it basically ensures that rivalries and violence will continue and grow. According to Girard, this is the fundamental reason why there is crime, violence, and war in the world. This cycle goes all the way back to the cavemen.”

Their waiter arrived with their dishes and at the drop of a hat, Karen went back to her squealing teenage self. Lucy couldn’t help shake her head at the sudden and drastic changes Karen could pull off personality wise. For a moment, it made her wonder just why Karen was like this. Perhaps she’d always been like this or maybe there was something in her past that cultivated such a talent, though Lucy couldn’t for the life of her say what that might be.

“Cheerful fellow this Girard, isn’t he?”

Lucy carefully put her napkin in her lap, “Yeah, but what’s important to note is that one could use mimetic theory to propose a possible solution to society-wide violence.”

“Okay,” Karen chewed on her noodles for a moment, “I’m listening.”

“Lucy and Victor wanted to press the reset button on the conflict by destroying the drug gangs through the hunt and kill tactics, playing one gang up against the other. But that’s not really how it works. The problem with their method is that watching people destroy each other doesn’t actually do anything to decrease violence— it inflates it. There’s nothing for people to unite around, so whatever survivors are left after the fire dies out and the smoke clears, are going to still be really pissed off.”

Karen paused, her eyes lost in thought before she said, “Look, so- so if they got it wrong… how-how can you then at the same time say that Girard is also the solution?”

“Girard presents us with the idea to transcend the identity of a single person and become something else, an image in the collective consciousness that represents justice without personal motivation— a symbol to be imitated,” Lucy waggled her fork at Karen, “and it’s this idea of symbols, Girard proposes, that can break society out of violence.”

“Symbol…” Karen let it sink in for a moment, then recognition dawned on her face, “look, you don’t mean…?”

Lucy simply nodded, “Listen, Kara, I can’t speak for the brass here or in D.C., but for me personally? I think- no, I know you can be that symbol. You just need to scrub off some of the rough edges, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, sure… just- let me add that to my calendar, secure world peace through imitation,” Karen said while she pretended to write something down in the palm of her hand, “guess that will be an all-day event, right?”

“Baby steps Kara, baby steps,” Lucy said with a smile.

Karen’s hand stopped writing, their eyes met, “Look, do you honestly think it is feasible? If humans are driven by an innate desire for violence, is it realistic to hope for something different?”

“Girard said that even in today’s Christian communities, people don’t really follow Christ’s example. It’s a question that followed me through the academy— is peace actually possible? People battle their inner monsters at the same time that they’re battling the monsters of society, but can either of these ever find a true resolution?” Lucy shrugged.

“You see me, a symbol that if not now, eventually will inspire people to abandon their violent urges? In all honesty, I’m not so sure if society can exist without conflict, no matter what you or me do. Look to the horizon and- all I see is a future crisis that needs to be dealt with,” Karen tapped her finger on the table. “Perhaps the limits of human nature prevent you from achieving lasting peace? Or does the human spirit allow you to overcome whatever obstacles may arise?”

Lucy took a sip from her water, “You tell me, you’re the alien standing on the outside, looking in.”

* * *

“Shoo, go away bird, nothing to see here,” Power Girl waved at a seagull that gave her a curious look as she hung high in the sky.

She strained her ears while her fingers tapped and danced over her bracelet. As Power Girl shifted through the various radio frequencies she pivoted around in place whenever it was needed to get a better fix. Only at the beginning of her shift did she think she was actually on to something, but whatever it was it was gone now. The dull transmission that was about as exciting as an old milk carton was all that she received. In the end, Power Girl called it quits when her stomach grumbled for attention, even gravity-defying aliens need to eat.

Power Girl made a soft landing at the intersection of East Mirror Drive and Mirror Park Boulevard in Mirror Park, just outside Horny's Burgers. Still mulling things over in her head, Power Girl floated a foot above the ground, easily falling in line with the cars in the drive-through. One of the perks of finding a regular spot for food breaks is that over time the neighborhood stops gawking. Still, it was a large city and there were always those that lined up to catch a glimpse of the alien from another world. Her fingers moved on autopilot across her bracer, tapping and sliding until she found the right frequency. While Power Girl mulled over what to order she said, “Dispatch this is PG, mark me as a code seven.”

“Copy that PG, enjoy your meal.”

“Horny’s Burger, what can I get you?” the voice crackled through the speaker.

Power Girl tried to wiggle a particular stubborn fifty-dollar bill out from underneath her bracelet while at the same time she skimmed the menu, “Yeah, hi… I’d like- uh, three Horn Sandwich please.”

A few minutes later, Power Girl found herself a spot in the shade by the parking lot and ate her simple meal. Her eyes were distant while her jaw made slow, deliberate work on the sandwich. In the back of her mind, Power Girl twisted and turned the puzzle, trying to crack its logic. An old habit of hers surfaced, one that she’d picked up while she learned to code a few years back. Power Girl started talking to herself, “Okay, look. They’re coordinating via radio or using radio to throw the cops off their tail or both… would it make sense to keep these separate? I don’t like waiting around for shit to hit the fan only-”

“That bastard stole my bike! Not again! You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

In a kneejerk reaction Power Girl took off like a bullet, still shoving the last piece of her sandwich in her mouth. She’d barely gotten up in the air before she spotted the thief paddling away while the owner flailed his arms around with frustration. Diving down, feet first Power Girl hit the pavement at an angle and skidded across it like a soccer player until she smashed into the bike. The impact sent the thief flying over the handle, landing square on his shoulders on a patch of grass. He groaned and rolled from side to side before staggering back on his feet, “Take it. I can’t afford another hospital bill!”

Power Girl hoisted the bike over her shoulder, sending angry daggers at the thief’s back with her eyes. Still chewing on her sandwich, she opted not to pursue the thief and instead returned the bike to its rightful owner, “Oh, thank fuck! You’ve got it. Thanks, lady. Seriously, you saved my ass.”

Unable to talk with the sandwich bulging in her mouth, Power Girl just nodded and gestured at the man to go about his business. After returning to active duty, Power Girl kept on searching for signs of tampering with police radio communications. Though for the rest of her shift she was unable to find anything, big or small that would bring her closer to the source.

* * *

“Ms. Starr? Do you have a moment?” a stick figure of a teenager timidly approached her by her desk.

She looked up from the scribbled mess that was her notes, “Yeah sure.”

The kid passed on a piece of paper with some code printed on it. It was for the next episode of their web series, where they made tutorials for others that wanted to create apps for smartphones. More often than not they took bits and pieces of a real client’s request and used it on the show as an example of how to do it right. This in return meant that as talented and smart as many of these kids were, their code would have to be checked, double-checked, and occasionally checked again. Karen was often the one they came to for the final check.

“Yours looks a lot like Lena’s attempt. She used an array instead of HashSet but it performs the same function though admittedly at higher space complexity. But then in the spirit of DRY, both of us realized that the 'first m entries' for loop are just doing the same as the 'add' in the second for loop. You can eliminate the first for a loop by just putting the 'remove old value' inside an 'if ( i >= m )' block,” Karen said while she made some quick notes in the margin of the paper.

“Great point. That will make my code so much cleaner. Thank you,” he smiled shyly.

As the day rolled towards the end, Karen changed to her all-black sports bra and short tights and headed for the office gym. By the time she was done with warming up and was on her third set of planking, Nico joined in. Karen just barely managed to squeeze out a short nod with her beet-red face before collapsing flat on the floor with a heavy sigh, “Didn’t know you were going for the Power Girl look, Ms. Starr.”

“Huh?” she spun her head around, wide eyes blinking at Nico. “The what now?”

“The Power Girl look, apparently plenty of women try to go for the more muscular build.”

She got back on her feet, stretching and arching her back, “Really? I didn’t know that was a thing. Why is that a thing?”

Nico shrugged, “I guess it’s like with all other things; ordinary people see famous people do something, they mimic it. Whether it is good for them or not.”

“Look, I don’t think there’s anything bad about working out Nico,” Karen said before she helped herself with a pair of dumbbells.

“That’s not the argument, the argument is that just like you, young girls turn to steroids to get that really muscular look.”

Karen stopped with both dumbbells raised up to her mid-chest, “I don’t do steroids, Nico.”

“Uh-huh,” Nico didn’t sound convinced at all and instead started doing jumping jacks with a clever little smile on his face. “I might not know everything about working out, but there is no way a woman can get that kind of physique on diet and workout alone.”

“Look, why do people care? What grown women do with their bodies is their business.”

“True, but,” Nico stopped to catch his breath, “even high schoolers go for it, and that ruffles all kinds of feathers.”

“Look, can we talk about something else? Or maybe nothing at all? I just want to get through my reps.”

“Sure,” Nico got down on all fours to do some push-ups, “how did that little radio signal project thingy of yours pan out?”

Karen rolled her eyes, “Not great if you must know. I thought I was on to something, but-” she bit down her words and focused on her exercise instead.

For a while, the two of them just kept doing their thing in silence. The burning tingle through Karen’s muscles grew stronger each time she lifted the dumbbells. A mindless motion, one that she’d done a thousand times before letting her mind adrift. It hadn’t helped her before in wrestling some sense out of the problem and by the looks of it, it wasn’t helping this time either. Throbbing pain jabbed into her shoulders like a hundred searing hot needles, each dumbbell felt like it was an aircraft carrier stuck in a frozen sea as gravity clung to them. They trembled in her arms, her teeth set against one another and then it came; a switch flipped somewhere in her system, the pain vanished and the weights might as well be pockets of air.

“Ms. Starr? Earth to Ms. Starr?”

“What?” she blinked at Nico.

“You okay there?” he looked concerned behind his glasses. “You looked like an angry momma bear ready for the kill.”

“Oh,” her arms dropped to her sides like a pair of dead ropes, “just- trying to figure out what to do next. With the radio thing.”

“What is it with you and that radio case anyway?”

“Look, I just- I got it stuck in my head, like a stupid piece of code that refuses to make sense or an error message that might as well be written in Greek. Keeps me up at night, fucking annoying is what it is.”

“Right,” he slipped his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, “well if the police have a problem tracing the signal it could be because the broadcasters have changed their setup. They might get lucky and catch wind of someone who hasn’t gotten the new settings yet, but… that would have to be someone out in the bongos.”

“You,” Karen said as she bounced on her toes, “are a genius! Thanks!”


	19. The Sisyphean Task

Even after almost two months, it was still daunting to visit Ms. Starr. Rose’s sister Vanessa used to say that you only had one shot at making a first impression. Considering how Rose met Ms. Starr it wasn’t all that odd that she dragged her feet, even if she had legitimate business with her. Her feeble attempts to wiggle away by passing the monthly budget over to Captain Sato for approval had failed miserably. Captain Sato had been quite frank and sent Rose on her way to see Ms. Starr. At the end of the day, it was her money and she really needed to keep an eye on her spending. With the laptop clutched in her hands, Rose drew in a deep breath and exhaled. There was a tiny little voice that assured her that everything was going to be just fine, barely audible over the rock concert that her nerves were playing in her head.

“Ms. Starr? Do you have a moment?” Rose knocked timidly on the doorframe.

A small jolt ran over Ms. Starr’s shoulders, she blinked and gestured to Rose to join her, “Sorry about that, my mind was elsewhere. Is that the budget?”

Rose’s lips shrank down to a single thin line, she parted with the laptop with a short little nod before she sank down in the chair opposite of Ms. Starr’s cluttered desk. While Ms. Starr looked over the numbers, Rose took in the silent humming of about half a dozen computers. Some were gutted open, wires, and spinning fans clearly visible. On the walls were a handful of movie posters such as a complete set of The Matrix posters as well as a couple that Rose didn’t quite recognize. Dark City was one title, the other read The Thirteenth Floor. Rose’s pondering look seemed to have caught Ms. Starr’s eye, since she asked, “Something on your mind Rose?”

“Huh? Oh sorry, I just- forget it.”

“No, no, it’s alright. Speak up,” there was this motherly encouragement to Ms. Starr’s voice that Rose hadn’t heard in years.

“It’s just these posters. I thought you were more of a horror fan. I mean, every time you decide to relax with a movie it’s always been horror. Nightmare on Elm St. or Friday the 13th.”

Ms. Starr looked up on the walls as she leaned back in her chair, “You see, there are some horror elements in these movies, but what I really like about them is the tech that they explore. Jogs my memory, gives me ideas. Plus, these movies can stand multiple viewings, which is always a plus in my book.”

“Right.”

“Anyway,” Ms. Starr clapped her hands together, “since we hit some big red numbers last month, it looks like our spending discipline this month has paid off.”

Rose nodded, “I guess not holding a company party on the yacht helps.”

“Who would have thought, huh Rose? Looks like that’s at least one problem I can check off my list. It’s not much, but it’s something,” Ms. Starr closed the laptop and returned it to Rose.

She was tiptoeing between computer parts and monitors when Rose paused, “Is- are there problems at work, Ms. Starr?”

Ms. Starr’s fingers clattered against the keyboard, spinning new threads of code at neck-breaking speeds, “Hmm? No, the business is going well Rose, money isn’t an issue. At least as long as I don’t spend it like a drunken sailor.”

“No, I- uhm, I meant your other job, Ms. Starr.”

Her fingers stopped, floating just a small inch over the keyboard. A tender smile could barely be seen on Ms. Starr’s face, “Are you worried about me Rose?”

“A little bit,” Rose’s cheeks turned pink at the confession.

“Aw, you’re so sweet. Look, it’s nothing to worry about, okay?”

A pause followed, the fast-paced rhythm of Ms. Starr’s typing resumed, scratching against the silence. Rose swayed back and forth on the spot, the pull of the doorway and the great beyond was strong, yet there was this steady tug that wanted her to stay. She nibbled on her bottom lip, “Ms. Starr…?”

“Mm?”

“Vanessa never talked to me about her problems. About dad. I guess she did it to protect me because I was so young back then,” she sniffed, eyes watering with tears, “but- the thing is, it didn’t. It didn’t protect me Ms. Starr and- and I still think we’d- things would have been different if we just talked to each other.”

Ms. Starr walked up to her, the straightest path she could take, kicking aside a monitor along the way. Rose was lost in the soft, warm embrace of Ms’ Starr’s arms. Hands strong enough to bend the barrels of a rifle held her so gently, softly brushing the top of her head. Rose’s trembling breath washed against the washed-out t-shirt that Ms. Starr wore, tears popped out and trickled down her cheeks. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to be comforted, to be showered with the warm rain that was Ms. Starr’s love. Like a soothing breeze, Ms. Starr shushed her while they rocked ever so gently from side to side.

Rose felt a tender kiss on the top of her head, “Look, if it makes you feel any better, it’s simply a question of what the best course of action is. I don’t have much time to make up my mind and I can’t really screw this one up. The error margin is gone, which sucks, to be honest.”

“Well,” Rose swallowed and forced a smile, “you must do what you feel is right, of course...”

“Quoting Star Wars, eh?” Ms. Starr smiled and winked. “Just what do you suggest I do?”

Rose took a moment to collect herself, “The same as you did for me.”

“Uh… okay?”

“You did wrong by the law, but right by me. I- I don’t know what the predicament is Ms. Starr, but… do everything you can, please. It’s- isn’t it better to regret trying something than regret not doing anything or everything you possibly could?”

* * *

“Hey PG, ready for a new shift?” Lance greeted Power Girl as they met on the stairway leading up to the helipad.

“In a minute Lt. Schachter, I need to talk to Sgt. Buehler about the crimson case. Have you seen her?” Power Girl held up a fat brown envelope as if it was the key to resolve everything.

“Gena? Yeah, I think she’s in. Try checking with Janessa Burch if you can’t find her.”

She half rushed down the stairs, holding up a thumb to Lance as quick thanks. The reception area was buzzing with activity. By the looks of it, a larger arrest had taken place and everyone was getting lined up to be processed by the system. Through the hustle and bustle Power Girl tried to spot Gena or any hints of Janessa but came up short even after standing on her toes for a better view. Arthur was flooded by the reception desk, he kind of reminded Power Girl of an octopus as he answered phone calls, passed out pens and filed away papers while at the same time trying to keep track of the ever-growing queue. In an effort to try and pinpoint Gena or at the very least some clue as to where she could be, Power Girl strained her hearing and filtered out the dozens of different voices.

“Finally cracked the crimson puzzle, Amby?”

The question made Power Girl pause. She continued to listen in on the conversation as this Amby character bragged about how he’d shed new light on the designer drug. As the details came in like pearls on a string, Power Girl shifted her focus and made her way through the crowd and over to where Amby and his co-worker stood. Amby was about thirty-five years old, with short brown hair and big, goofy smile. It got even bigger once he noticed Power Girl and he sized her up, “Hellooo nurse. Is that a mirror in your cleavage? Cause I can see myself in between your boobs.”

Her brows snapped together, “Your report, can I see it?”

“What did I tell ya?” Amby waved his file in front of his co-worker, “chicks love guys with brai- Hey!”

Without humoring Amby’s little parade, Power Girl snatched the file out of his hand and skimmed its content. He was about to fire off yet another brilliant line when Power Girl shot him a quick glare from the corner of her eye. She glanced up to the ceiling, crunching numbers and digging up old memories. The file closed promptly before it was shoved into Amby’s chest and Power Girl stormed out the door, leaving Amby bewildered, “What was that all about?”

* * *

A bundle of papers landed with a thick smack on top of Lucy’s desk. Across her desk stood Power Girl, tall and eager for news. Her report was impressive, not quite up to FBI or police standards, yet impressive considering the lack of experience Power Girl had with actual paperwork. She’d collected data, structured it in a report, and had evidence that put what most likely was the heart of the crimson drug network square on the map. As good and dandy as that was, it was outside of Power Girl’s jurisdiction. And on top of that, she’d stolen a radio from a member of the drug ring and used it to triangulate the location of their base.

“Listen, Kara, you know we can’t use this, right?”

She nodded, “If we don’t, they’ll just slip away and we’re back on square one. Do you think I have that kind of time? To start all over again?”

Lucy flipped through a few pages again, “No, you don’t. Maybe if you hadn’t barged in on the Assistant Director. I haven’t heard anything, but I bet my badge that he phoned D.C. and they’re not happy. Got a plan B?”

Power Girl hesitated. It was subtle, but Lucy spotted that there was a shift like an idea crossed her mind, yet she discarded it almost as soon as it presented itself, “By the looks of it? No. I was kind of hoping you’d be able to cook up a plan C.”

“Listen to me very carefully Kara, for I’ll say this only once,” Lucy leaned forward and rested her elbows on her desk. “It’ll be a lie. Lies don’t last, they erode over time. And everything you’ve built up to that point can come crashing down.”

She clasped her hands behind her back and squared her shoulders, “The way I see it, I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get there. Maybe I’ll regret it, maybe I won’t. Time will tell if I’ll end up as some scapegoat for all the troubles of the world. It’s not pretty, but it’s my last chance so I’ll take it.”

The two women headed for the Assistant Director’s office and presented their case. Details were changed so that it appeared to be a collaboration between the two women, Power Girl had collected data from inside her jurisdiction and had Lucy follow up leads that pointed to other counties. All they needed now was a green light to strike, though their window of opportunity was slim. Lucy pressed for the importance that Power Girl was allowed to participate. Citations were made to the firepower and training of the Lost as reasons why they'd need her with them when they made the move.

“Alright, Power Girl you scout ahead, but do NOT engage. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir, thank you, sir,” Power Girl pivoted and left as a soldier marching off to war.

“Agent Kuo, we’ll need to get a team together. I want you to lead it,” Assistant Director Johnson said, eyeing a security monitor that showed Power Girl leaving in the elevator. “Can you control it, agent Kuo?”

“Sir?”

“I’ll have to let the brass at Fort Zancudo know, they’ll keep some jets in the air. Can you control it?”

“Sir, according to the reports are we can expect heavy resistance and- if Dr. Cross’ files are correct, she’ll be greatly drained from engaging in combat. I’ll manage.”

Director Johnson rubbed his chin, “Take the shot agent Kuo if you have to. That’s an order.”

* * *

From the roof of the FBI headquarters, Power Girl jumped off the edge and soared up to the skies. The wind rushed through her blonde hair and clawed at her cape as she pressed onwards. As the Grand Senora Desert came into view, she slowed down and got her bearings. She took note of where the sun was in the sky as well as a few handy clouds up above her. While she ascended higher to hide inside a cloud, Power Girl checked in on the radio, “Lucy, this is Power Girl, do you read?”

“I hear you loud and clear, what’s your status?”

She squinted her eyes, zooming in on the ground below, “Looking down on the production facility. Looks quiet, no movement at all.”

“Alright listen, stay put. We’re heading out now, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Copy that,” Power Girl said as she signed off.

From this high up she really had to strain her hearing to catch sounds from ground level and even then, it was only the loudest noises that made it up. Every now and then a random gust of wind passed by, prompting Power Girl to dial back on her hearing as the sudden rustling sound was enough to throw her to the ground. While Lucy had told her to stay put, Power Girl opted to drift along with the cloud as much as possible to remain hidden. There was a chance, however remote, that they’d be on an active lookout for her. Even if that wasn’t the case, Power Girl knew that they transported the drugs via airdrops so there was also the risk of being spotted by an aircraft coming either landing or departing. Speaking of which, Power Girl left the cloud and remained with the sun to her back and looked over the Sandy Shores airfield. Not much activity going on there either. The sirens of Lucy’s FBI crew started to trickle her ears, “Would you look at that; they’re really putting the pedal to the metal, aren’t they?”

Another sound, more distant and muffled caught Power Girl’s attention. She spun around and traced up and down the different streets of Sandy Shores for the source. A boulder shaped in her gut when she spotted what made the noise; a caravan of Lost motorcycles and a van left the airfield and made their way towards the production site, “Lucy, you’ve got incoming. I’m seeing five-six bikers and a van.”

“Copy that Power Girl, we’ll be ready for them.”

They were on the third crate of drugs when the screeching tires of the FBI vans made them drop everything in their hands and go for their guns. FBI agents screamed out for their surrender at the top of their lungs as the two parties opened fire on one another. From up high-Power Girl quickly tried to get an overview and see where she’d be needed the most. The caravan bikers made a retreat into a nearby house, fortifying their position. She was just about to bring down the hammer, crashing through the ceiling of the house when she spotted reinforcements spilling out of a nearby barn and house just up the dusty road. Making note that the FBI seemed to have the situation under control by the big red garage, Power Girl crashed through the other house up by the road.

The dust had barely settled and all she could see were dim shadowy silhouettes before her vision adjusted. Still, there were no mistaking bad guys from bystanders as the scarcely lit bedroom flashed with gunfire. Her engagement with the bikers was noteworthy different than when she’d hit Murietta Heights. This time around the weapons themselves was a different beast, more rifles than pistols and the short-range didn’t help either. On top of that their aim was much better and consistently going for the center of body mass. It probably didn’t help to wear a near all-white suit in a dark setting. Every muzzle flare lit Power Girl up like a camera flash. Nevertheless, she persisted; snatching guns and twisting them into useless junk. Most took the hint when they saw what she did to the raw metal with her bare hands, though there were a few that remained stubborn. One smashed an old chair across her back.

“Seriously?” she grabbed the man and threw him hard against the wall.

Both barrels of a doubled shotgun caught her square in the side, the impact staggering her. She took in a sharp breath and whirled around, snatched the shotgun, and used it as a crude bat on the shooter's jaw. A hand reached down to her side, Power Girl groaned as she made a limp out into the sunlight. The pain continued to throb up and down her ribs, curving around to her lower back. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a young woman trying to escape on a dirt bike. The engine roared to life, rear tire kicked up gravel and she dashed down the dirt road. Without skipping a beat, Power Girl shot the tire out with her heat vision, the resulting explosion sent the driver over the steering wheel. She pumped a fist, “Great shot.”

* * *

Ryan stood by the counter, in front of him were plates filled with high-grade methamphetamine. Just outside it sounded like all hell had broken loose, though over the last few minutes things seemed to have settled down. Muffled shouts from what sounded like FBI agents suggested that Ryan was on the losing end. He checked his pocket, the familiar form of his Zippo lighter brushed against the palm of his hand. From atop the staircase the front door got kicked in, or rather it got kicked of the hinges. In the doorway stood a woman, tall and batter. She had a stern look on her face, impatient. As if she’d had a diarrhea tier day of shit and just wanted to get it over with. For all the strength and raw power, she projected, Ryan was quick to note subtle hints of fatigue and how she winced a little with every step she took down the stairs. She was breathing hard, her suit spotted with sot from gunfire and small streams of sweat trickled down the length of her muscular arms. He drew in a long breath and leaned against the wall, “Well, well, well… look what the cat dragged in.”

“Look, pal, you’re the only one left,” she jerked her thumb at the door, “so just give it up and talk to the nice agents outside. I’m sure they’ll be happy to give you a lift. They even have air-conditioned in their cars.”

Ryan pointed his squirt gun at her face. She went cross-eyed for a moment, studying the clunk of transparent blue plastic, “Are- are you kidding me?” she gave mirthless laugh before turning away.

His little educated guess had paid off, someone that powerful would be cocky and overconfident. Ryan pulled the trigger and made a wet stain on her cape. There was a faint shift in her stance, how she caught on Ryan had no idea. Regardless he flung his lighter out from his pocket, flicking it to a small fire just as it left his fingers. It barely scratched against the fabric, the small flame gave the dark stain a faint kiss. With a loud whoosh, the kiss bellowed into a large ball of fire. Ryan hid his grin behind his shirt, giggling as the woman struggled to get the cape off in time. A slight miscalculation on Ryan’s end was that her hair didn’t seem to catch fire. In the flurry of movements to discard the cape, the woman hastily tossed it aside, and soon a small stockpile of red phosphorus ignited. Tall flames started climbing up against the walls, muscling their way over everything in their path.

* * *

“Great, just fan-fucking-tastic,” Power Girl huffed with disappointment at the fire. “Look, pal we don’t time to play hide and seek so get your ass out here.”

“I’m not going back,” the young man said.

Power Girl gritted her teeth while she searched between the various equipment, “Look, I will not debate with you.”

Smoke from the fire mixed with fumes from various chemicals, causing an itching burning sensation to scrape against the insides of Power Girl’s throat with every breath she took. Her pace quickened and she started shoving equipment aside to get a better look. Finally, in a back room turned storage she found the young man, struggling with some sort of back exit that probably hadn’t been used in a decade and a half. She jerked her head in the direction of the front door, “Look, buddy, it’s the end of the line.”

For a moment it looked like he’d given up, hands were held out to his sides where she could see them and he approached her slowly. Just at the last minute he grabbed a plastic gallon jug and splashed its content straight on her face. The world went black and the corrosive liquid started immediately to eat away at her skin and eyes. She shrieked in pain, tossing in words and phrases of some alien tongue for good measure. A pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her forwards, sending her tumbling into the cluttered back room and caused an assortment of things to rain down on her.

“You’re DEAD! You hear me?!”

With a blanket of darkness wrapped firmly over her eyes, Power Girl vented her wrath on whatever lifeless objects that cluttered over and around her. More chemical spills sploshed out from containers that exploded in her hands, the liquids wiggled themselves underneath her suit before settling in small pockets and left a patch of irritated skin in their wake. Spider webs and dust or some sort of power clung to the wet parts as she fumbled back on her feet. She spread her arms wide, fingers reaching out as crude eyes that would help her navigate out.

“Here kitty, kitty… come to mama,” Power Girl said as she felt up the frame of the doorway, “state prison isn’t all that bad, at least not considering the option of burning up, right?”

“Not when you’re already a dead man.”

Power Girl turned her head, a faint smile on her lips, “Look- what’s that supposed to mean? You in trouble with the cartel or something? You know we can protect you, right?”

“Protect me? That’s rich coming from you in your sorry, pathetic state,” the young man said just before a series of choughs interrupted him. “You can’t protect me from HIV.”

“Ah-ha, dead man walking eh?” Power Girl’s hands fumbled forward, tracing the rugged surface of the wall as she took uncertain steps. “Let me guess, started selling drugs to afford treatment or just pay the bills?”

“Fuck that, you just don’t see it, do you?”

“Now I wonder whose fault THAT is…” she tilted her head in the direction of his voice.

“Life’s absurd if you think about it; society is just a big machine, people are its cogs and gears. It grinds us down to hollow husks and spits us out, only to start anew with the next generation.”

A thick cable or something similar halted Power Girl’s progress, making her lose her balance, “So life is both laborious and futile, cry me a fucking river and get over it. It didn’t cross your mind to do something more, I don’t know, productive with your limited time? Help the homeless? Adopt a kitten?”

“The fuck you think I’ve been doing lady? I provide relief and refuge to the folks grinded down by the system.”

“While making a healthy profit no doubt,” Power Girl said before she took in a sharp breath.

“Lady, have you seen this setup? I’m not living the high life in some Playboy mansion.”

“So, you see yourself as a strong contender for philanthropist of the year. Keep telling yourself that, you prick.”

“You know I’m right, you just don’t want to admit it,” the young man paused to cough. “Or maybe you really are that blue-eyed, naïve, or just straight-up dumb. I don’t want to play the game you’re playing, I’d rather play with fire.”

“Looks like you got it just the way you want it to me.”

“Doesn’t matter what you’ll say or do, in the end, you’ll be grinded down and forgotten. I bet somewhere down the line, you’ll see that if you had a second chance, a second life you’d do things differently.”

Power Girl straightened up and stabbed both of her arms through a wall, wrapping around the young man’s chest. A few solid kicks on the wall with her knee weakened it enough for her to pull him through with it. The heat of the flames brushed against the top of her head and shoulders. In her embrace she felt the young man struggled, flailing his arms and kicking his legs to get free. It wasn’t much of a fight, Power Girl assumed that the fumes, smoke, and heat was getting to him as well. She rolled over, pressing his face down on the floor. It shut him up if nothing else. Then Power Girl reached inside, the grip gravity had on her started to slip and as sudden as a rubber band snapping the two of them shot up and through the roof. From the ground below Power Girl could hear agents on the ground trying to give her directions on where to land.

As Power Girl started her decent she said, “I can promise you I’d do it again, the same mistakes all over again.”

He hung his head in defeat, “Why…?”

“I’d rather be a lonely fool than sing along in your choir.”


	20. Precious Declaration

The Velcro straps on Lucy’s bulletproof west came off with a satisfying ripping sound before it got tossed into the back of her trunk. Most of the ceiling on the garage had imploded after Power Girl smashed through it as the fire had grown and continued to weaken the already fragile building. By the time the fire trucks arrived, it was in a sorry state of deep orange fire, thick black smoke and walls just waiting for an excuse to come crashing down. With the criminals shipped off to jail, the remaining fight was between firefighters and the burning garage. Aside from the shabby looking house next to it, there wasn’t any real risk of the fire spreading. Lucy navigated between fellow agents and firefighters until she arrived at an ambulance. Sitting in the back door was Power Girl, chin raised as if she was working on her tan. She  rested a hand on her hip, “How are you holding up?”

Power Girl shrugged, “My ears are no longer ringing and I can do the twist without hissing in pain, which is nice.”

“And your eyesight?”

She looked in the general direction of Lucy’s voice with her eyes still closed and smiled, “Look, I’ll be fine. I’m sturdier than I look.”

“Says the one built like a heavyweight boxer. Listen, uh,” Lucy sat down next to her, “I’m proud of you Kara. You pulled him out of there, even given the circumstances I don’t think people would have blamed you for leaving him there.”

“Yeah, I hope this is good enough for your boss. I mean, we got the mastermind, arrested a good chunk of his goons, burned down his secret lab and destroyed the recipe for the designer drug. All in one swoop.”

Lucy tilted her head, “We?”

“Aw come on,” Power Girl fumbled with her arm a little before she found Lucy’s back and patted it, “don’t you know that teamwork makes the dream work?”

“I’ll be sure to mention that in my report.”

“Please do.”

* * *

“Remarkable,” Dr. Cross said as he peeled back the bandages that covered Ms. Starr’s eyes. It had been ten days since the attack and she was already making massive strides towards what looked like a full recovery. “And the only thing you’ve noticed is an increase in appetite?”

“Yeah, the- those drops that you gave me helped with the itching. I stopped using them after the third night. Do you need those back by the way?”

He shook his head , only to remember that despite the hasty recovery, Ms. Starr still couldn’t see very well. Just blobs in various shades of grey, “No, that’s fine. It would appear that your body has an accelerated healing compared to humans. I’m tempted to suggest that sunlight is a determining factor, though it still requires raw materials to rebuild damaged tissue. Hence the increased appetite.”

Ms. Starr’s raised her eyebrows, “Really? So, what? I’d just grow a new set of eyes if it ever came to that?”

“First off, let’s hope it never comes to that,” he said while he applied a new set of bandages for  Ms. Starr. “However, it is possible that when you’re exposed to sunlight and your body have sufficient building blocks that it’d be able to recover from even greater injuries. Not that getting caustic soda thrown in your face is a minor injury, don’t get me wrong.”

She frowned at him, or at the very least in his general direction before she said, “Doc, this might go without saying, but I’d like you to keep detailed records of my injuries and recovery time.”

“Well, yes… I suspect that this will not be the last time you’ll get hurt, given your profession,” his voice dropped in volume as he added, “and personality.”

“I heard that…” Ms. Starr stretched and yawned on her sunbed, the simple black bikini she wore left very little to the imagination, “Look, appreciate the home visit doc. If there’s nothing else, I’m sure Mr. Steele will be happy to take you back to the mainland.”

“No, I don’t have anything to add. Just be sure to get plenty of rest, eat and drink. Also, the sunbathing thing is most likely helping as well,” Dr. Cross said while he closed his suitcase. “Well then Mr. Steele, shall we?”

* * *

With the orange sun sinking closer and closer to the horizon, Captain Sonia came by to check on Ms. Starr. She found her still in her sunbed, sound asleep by the look of it.  The corner of her mouth quirked up despite the sigh she let out. With today’s newspaper under her arm, Captain Sonia walked up and gently shook Ms. Starr’s shoulder, “Ma’am? Ma’am, wake up.”

“There’s no broccoli- wait, what?” Ms. Starr looked around slightly confused, “Captain?”

“The sun is setting  ma’am, I think that is enough for today.”

“Huh? But doc was-”

Captain Sonia sighed and gently helped Ms. Starr out of the sunbed, “Dr. Cross left hours ago, ma’am. Dinner will be ready shortly. Sadly, I don’t think broccoli is included in today’s dish.”

“I’ll live captain, I’ll live,” Ms. Starr held her hand as Captain Sonia guided her into the dining room.

Sounds big and small made Ms. Starr turn her head in their direction while she waited for dinner to arrive. Captain Sonia tried to follow her blind gaze, ready to explain the source if needed. Though there were times when she couldn’t spot what had caught Ms. Starr’s attention. It made the gap between their senses all the more apparent. In an effort to roll Ms. Starr back into the dining room, Captain Sonia opened today’s newspaper, making a point to rustle a little extra with the pages. She took in a deep breath before she said, “The news is still having a field day with your big drug bust, even more than your first time.”

“If I were to guess I’d say it’s because this time around it was far more dramatic,” Ms. Starr’s hand fumbled a little into the empty air before she found her glass. “Also, a little drama between the FBI and Narcotics division helps I suppose.”

“Did Sgt. Buehler get credit for the case, ma’am?”

Ms. Starr frowned, cupping her glass in both hands as she said, “I… honestly don’t know. I’ve been out of touch since this happened. Can’t even remember if she was on the scene.”

Captain Sonia folded the paper, “Well it does seem like the press and public have finally warmed up to you ma’am. This Andrew Vinson fellow sure knows how to write. Just about every other news outlet out there follow his suit. Congratulations, you’ve earned it.”

“Looks like I have a friend in the Fourth Estate,” Ms. Starr said with a smug smile.

* * *

When the next morning shined down on the city of Los Santos, Karen arrived at the office together with Rose to collect a few things. The eye bandages were left behind in favor of big sunglasses and Karen had gone an extra mile to look good. She didn’t want to give the impression to her staff that she was overly sick. Rather she hoped she’d assure them that she was indeed in the fast lane for recovery. All that said though, Karen remained practical and opted for the elevator rather than the stairs as she’d normally do. 

“Ms. Starr, Ms. Starr, are you alright?” Ms. Lieb pitter-pattered over to her and clutched her hands before Karen had gotten half a foot out the elevator. 

“I’ll live Ms. Lieb, I’ll live,” she wiggled her hands-free with a smile. “The doctor is very  positive, all I need is time.”

With Rose by her side, Karen navigated through the office landscape towards her office. Just before entering, she paused and turned, “Everyone, can I have your attention for just a moment? Thank you. Look, I’ve been away for over a week already due to my accident, but I’m happy to hear that Ophelia has kept things together here in my absence. Ophelia? Are you here?”

“Yes ma’am, right here.”

Karen gave a thumb up in the general direction of Ophelia’s voice, “You’ve done a fantastic job Ophelia; keep up the good work. I entrust the day to day business to you.”

A small round of applause rang through the room before Dexter asked, “When can we expect you back, Ms. Starr?” 

She made an uncertain gesture with her hand, “Looks like it is hard to say, but another week? Maybe more. I’ll be available by phone should there be anything. Can’t help you debug code though, sorry.”

They shared a good laugh over the comment and as they simmered down and went back to their desks, Simon joined Rose and Karen in her office. She remained passive, listing up the things she wanted to collect and describe them rather than getting them herself. The bulk of the items were bits and pieces of Karen’s personal projects that she wished to refine, while there were others that she wanted to be scrapped entirely. Simon came in with another cardboard box when he said, “You know, maybe we could cook up some sort of reading app for you. One that turns text to speech.”

“Look, whoever can pull that off in a week certainly deserves a raise.”

“If you put it like that, I’ll just have to mention it to the gang,” Simon smiled.

* * *

The bottom of Power Girl’s boots scraped softly against the sidewalk as she made her landing on Innocence Boulevard. Her eyesight was still a little blurry around the edges, but all in all she had Dr. Cross’ blessing to get back on the field. Thankfully the first call of the day was a simple DUI from what looked like a party at the Unicorn Gentleman’s Club that had lasted into the early hours of the  following day. Traffic remained quiet, the city hadn’t fully woken yet and was probably too busy cooking the first cup of coffee to care. Power Girl surveyed the scene; a police cruiser as well as a sad rusted excuse for a truck. The driver sat obediently on a nearby bench, hands resting in his lap. Sgt. Whitfield questioned the gentleman while Officer Green inspected the vehicle. 

“Hey PG, back in the saddle?” Whitfield said with a quick nod.

“Yeah, sitting on my ass got a little stale by the end of the second week,” she gestured at the gentleman. “What do we have here?”

“He came out from the Unicorn, missed a red light. Nothing big.”

Power Girl raised her chin, “You been drinking today sir?”

“Nah, babe.”

“Sir, we’re not on a date,”  she said with a frustrated authoritarian tone to her voice. “You’ll answer me with a clear yes ma’am or no ma’am. Are you picking up what I’m putting down?”

Her forehead puckered , “Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t worry about  it PG, I got it.”

Power Girl looked heavenward for a moment, then turned as if something had caught her ear. She backtracked around the corner and peered into the bushes, “What are you doing in the bushes over there?”

“Oh- uh- I can explain,” a woman stepped out from the bushes with her hands raised over her head.

“Ma’am, put your hands down. You don’t have to make it weird. I just wanted to know why you were in the bush.”

The woman, a petite little thing with short sandy blonde hair and wearing a plain-looking white summer dress was flustered enough to spill out all sorts of random words and phrases. Excuses and explanations got jumbled together into a confusing bowl of sentences spaghetti. After pausing the woman and asking her to slow down and start from the top a few times, Power Girl was left with a woman that apparently just loved the sight of a man in uniform. By now Officer Green had joined in, though so far, his contribution to the conversation had boiled down to rolling his eyes. 

“Look, I’ll tell you what; we’ll linger in the area and provide our services in terms of making the public safe and public order are retained,” Power Girl said, while her patience was bleeding out on the pavement as she spoke, “but I doubt anyone is going to pull anything out of their pants and jiggle their bodies.”

Officer Green nodded, “Never been one for the dick shaking game myself. Except for scaring everybody. It’d be like that scene from Independence Day. You know, the big shadow that loomed over half the fucking state?”

“Look, you’re making me lose my breakfast,” Power Girl groaned. “Alright ma’am, if there was nothing else…”

“Oh, uh, actually…” the woman fidgeted, “there is one thing.”

She went on into a rambling outline of how she worked on the Unicorn, side-tracking for far too long to assure both Power Girl and Officer Green  _ that _ she wasn’t that kind of a woman, until she finally  came around as a bartender. At any rate, and some not so subtle verbal nudges from Power Girl, the woman arrived at the heart of the matter. She had this idea for a lady’s night at the club and wondered if she could borrow some uniforms. If there were officers willing to sign up it, all the better. Power Girl and Officer Green exchanged glances, faint twitches in the corner of Green’s eyes suggested that he was offended by the request. Probably because it came from a white woman. He was just about to speak up when Power Girl stepped in, “Look, I don’t think that is very likely to happen. I’m sure you can rent some believable costumes for a reasonable price. As for getting men to wear them, I’d suggest checking the guys over at Muscle Sands Gym. They have great physique and egos that could use some stroking.”

Although disappointment was painted fairly clearly on her face, the woman didn’t press the issue any further and thanked them for their time. As Power Girl and Officer Green headed back to the business at hand he said, “The fuck does that bitch think she is?”

“Easy their tiger, she didn’t mean any harm by it.”

“Didn’t- Girl are you blind? A white woman asked a black man to strip. Fucking everyday racism right there. The hell would you feel if some sleaze bag asked you to strip?”

She shrugged, “Flattered? Not that I’d do it, but heck. Laugh it off and take it as a compliment. Someone finds you attractive. How are we doing Sgt. Whitfield?”

The rusted old truck limped off into the street, “We’re done here. What was that about?”

“Just some lady that wanted to ogle at men in uniform,” Power Girl gave a dismissive wave before she started a slow ascent. “Stay safe out there you two.”

“Hey PG, come by Bailey's later, okay?”

She paused mid-air, “Bailey's? Oh right, the place- that thing. Uhm, yeah. I’ll be there after my shift is over.”

* * *

The front door of Bailey’s stood before Power Girl. Despite its rather mediocre appearance, it looked so massive and heavy to her. As if for all of her might, no matter how much she pushed and shoved, it would not budge. Power Girl swallowed, her arms resting by her side as if tugging against an invisible rope. Alejandra came up behind her and opened the door without effort, inside the shadows looked warm and inviting in the dim light, “Power Girl? Are you coming?” 

She exhaled with a sense of relief and allowed herself a soft smile, “Yeah, sure.”

Even before her eyes adjusted to the dim lights the small bar exploded into a barrage of applause. Gradually the shadows were peeled away, silhouettes took a more solid form and colors started to bleed into view. The patrons of the bar stood in a half circle, genuine smiles on their faces. Some old and familiar as well as several new. Even Stewart was present, though by the looks of it he had been strong-armed into it rather than being there on his own violation. As the applause died down, Det. Reed stepped forward and offered her hand to Power Girl, “Welcome back and to Bailey’s Power Girl.”

Power Girl shook her hand firmly with a warm smile on her face, “Thank you, detective. It’s a pleasure and an honor to be here.”

The crowd cheered once more and Alana declared the bar open. Snacks and drinks were passed around, people mingled and made merry while a string of summer pop hits from yesteryear poured out of the speakers. The troubles of the streets of Los Santos would have to wait, at least for a little while. As the guest of honor, Power Girl was never given a quiet moment with a seemingly never-ending stream of congratulations and well wishes kept flowing her way. When things finally settled down, Power Girl retreated to the bar counter and found herself seated next to Arthur.

“Busy day, eh?” he said with a wink.

She glanced over her shoulder, “Yeah, but I don’t mind though. Thanks for dropping by Sgt. Delgado.”

Arthur shook his head and patted her on her shoulder, “Drop the formalities. We’re family now. And off duty, I might add.”

“Right,” she smiled to herself, “family.”

Alana stepped up, puffing a stray hair out of her face before she asked, “What can I get you Peege?”

“You see I’ll be flying home, so… give me a Dr. Pepper please.”

Arthur chuckled into his glass at the order but said nothing. The soda rested in the palm of Power Girl’s hand, cold to the touch and without texture. A faint smile shaped her lips while she closed her eyes, taking in the background chatter of her new family. Her eyes started to well up as a cozy warmth started to swell inside of her. Soft drops of water tickled her fingers, whether it was from the soda can or from her eyes she could not tell. With a sharp sniff, Power Girl straightened in her seat, unable to wipe the smile from her face. It did fade a little bit as she realized something and looked around her.

“Where’s Gena?”

“She couldn’t make it I’m afraid,” Arthur said, “stuck in an interview for her promotion. We were hoping she’d swing by afterward, but she might just want to relax at her own place.”

Power Girl blinked at him with an open face, “Prom- Gena got promoted?”

“Yup, she’ll be moving up in the world. The DEA was apparently quite impressed with her work on the crimson case. Speaking of promotion, what are your plans now?”

She took a swig of her soda, “I still have a lot to learn. Right now, all I know is hammer down on bad guys, but I’d like to do more than that. I suppose first aid is a good place to start. Any paramedics in the house?”

Arthur squinted as he adjusted his glasses slightly, “Yeah, I thought I saw a couple of them. If not, I can introduce you to Harriett Stockwell’s gang.”

“Are they any good?”

“I’d say so yeah. Her crew and ambulance are veterans all around. Well trained and well equipped, they provide a vital service on the city’s streets, supporting LSPD officers and assisting distressed citizens. The EMTs answer nearly as many calls as the police officers the EMTs work with, and the requests for assistance range from life-threatening to downright absurd.”

Power Girl finished her soda and patted Arthur on the shoulder, “Look, I’ll call it a night and check in on Gena. Take it easy on your shift, alright?”

* * *

Gena planted her butt on top of her suitcase with a solid thump, her hands working fast to secure the locks. It resisted, unwilling to slip over that last millimeter despite Gena’s best effort. Her weight shifted and the lock popped open once more. A frustrated growl bubbled in the back of her throat before she exhaled deeply. Shirts and pants were shuffled and nudged around before she was ready for another attempt. A polite knock on the door made her pause. Gena glanced curiously at her watch, who could it be at this hour? 

On the other side of the door stood Power Girl who greeted her with a happy shrug, “Hey, look… congrats on your promotion. Mind if I come in?”

“Uh, no. Not at all, by all means,” Gena stepped aside and invited her in. “Sorry about the mess, I’m in the middle of packing.”

“Would you look at that, moving up to the big leagues,” Power Girl quietly paced around the apartment, smiling at the suitcase. “Need a hand?”

Gena  folded her arms , “By all means girl. Show it who's boss.”

“Looks like this goes- no wait, ah-ha,” Power Girl mumbled a little to herself while examining the locking mechanism. “So, DEA special agent huh? Any reason why you’re leaving Los Santos? I thought they had an office downtown.”

“Hoping to get back with my ex,” s he turned her face away, “and my little girl.”

The locks snapped in place, prompting Power Girl to take a few slow steps away from the suitcase as if any sudden movement would make it explode, “That’s- nice. Hope it works out for you.”

“Thanks,” she toyed with a lock of hair, “you and me both  girl .”

A moment of silence sunk down between the two women. Just as the silence started to slide into awkward territory, Power Girl yawned and stretched, “Look I better get going. Fly safe tomorrow,” she started towards the door, “and don’t forget the toothbrush, passport, and nail polish.” 

Gena tensed up and drew in a sharp breath, “Y-yeah, I got it, girl. I got it.”

Power Girl stopped with her hand on the doorknob,  her nose crinkled, “That’s not nail polish I’m smelling, is it?”

“Wha- girl, have you been drinking?” she scoffed as her breaths quickened .

She squared her shoulders , “Gena, I know what crimson smells like.”

Gena stepped  away, her fingers fidgeted in a complex ballet while she looked around in her apartment. The most obvious and easiest way out was already blocked. Kudos to Power Girl for thinking ahead and picking the moment to make her move. Fleeing into the bathroom and locking the door was a ridiculous idea, considering who she was dealing with. Either one of the windows was an option, even if they were on the third floor. Then again Gena had seen Power Girl in action. If she ever set her sights on someone, she was just as persistent as the freaking Terminator. Her service arm was somewhere in the kitchen, or did she leave it on the bedroom table? Either way, that plan was dismissed as well. Not only pointless, but it’d also just provoke Power Girl whom at least for the time being seemed calm. Calm before the storm.

“Y-you don’t really strike me as a- a fashion girl. No offense,” shivers took root in her shoulders, rippling through her arms all the way out to the tip of her fingers as she spoke. “There’s- there’s this new brand, you see. Guess you wouldn’t know, right? I mean, who sniffs nail polish?”

She whirled around , pinning Gena down with her piercing gaze. Her facial expression a mix of anger and disappointment, “I did Gena. Every brand I could get my hands on. None of them smelled like the one I smelled in here when we first met. Not one.”

Gena wilted as Power Girl l eaned closer. She looked so tall and imposing. Granted Power Girl was tall enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with most men on the force and her impressive physique only added to her presence. Yet this almost claustrophobic looming as suffocating. She swallowed hard and squirmed slightly as a drop of sweat trickled down her spine. The person in front of her blurred away, morphing into this entity or presence that were all of Gena’s lies and secrets pressing down on her. Nevertheless, she resisted as words clawed their way over her tongue, words that tasted alien almost as if someone else were speaking them by imitating her voice, “The tests! The tests girl. I took drug tests like everyone else and came out clean every time.”

Sadness clouded Power Girl’s features as Gena’s words hit her in the face. Then her expression hardened, “Look, I read the report, Gena. I know that crimson is metabolized faster than traditional meth. Obviously, they know too. They’ll adjust the tests. You can’t run from this.”

“Just shut up!” Gena covered her ears.

Talons like steel snapped around her wrists and pulled her hands away, “Gena, Gena... Look at me, Gena. Look at me!” The darkness behind her eyes flung open and her face was mere inches away from Power Girl’s. 

Gena blinked a tear away, the stern yet concerned tone had left her stunned like a deer caught in the headlights. On the surface of her mind, she knew what was coming next. Quietly she hoped that when the impact hit her, it’d be quick and painless.

“Look… Gena, you’re my friend. We’re- we’re family, sisters or cousins. I want to help, okay? I could have thrown you under the bus, ratted you out to boost my own performance, and take a bigger credit on the case,” her lower lip trembled. “But I didn’t, okay? You gave me a chance to help, to do the right thing. Now I’m giving you a chance. Please. Please take it.”

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Gena hesitantly squeezed out, “I- I-”

“If not for me, do it for Amanda. Promise her. Walk away, get help.”

She hung her head in defeat, “I- I will. I promise I’ll get help.”

Power Girl folded her arms around Gena’s trembling shoulders, wrapping her in a comforting embrace, “Ssshh, ssshh… it’s okay. It’ll work out.”

* * *

Lucy leaned over the pool table, ready to take her shot when she saw the door swing open in the corner of her eye. As soon as they saw one another, Karen was quick to give an apologetic gesture before closing the door behind her. The jukebox clacked from one song to the next, filling the small basement game room with glaring country tunes. In the dark shadows that hung around the pool table, Lucy tracked Karen’s silhouette as she paces around the room. She cracked her neck a little and took her shot, “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sorry. Got stuck in traffic.”

A short, angry hiss slipped through Lucy’s teeth as the balls did not end up where she wanted them. While she contemplated her next shot, she quietly applied chalk to her cue stick. Not taking her eyes off the game she said, “Didn’t know you had a license.”

Karen scoffed and shook her head, “Alright, alright. I’m late because I went home to change. There, you happy now? Stars and stone, what’s that awful song? Mind if I change it?”

“Not at all,” Lucy said before lining up her next shot. “Listen, I’m glad you recovered. It’s good to have you back on the streets Kara.”

“Yeah? To be honest it feels great to be back too. How does this heap of junk even work?”

Lucy held her breath, a small smile on her face. The shot connected, balls darted around and the eight-ball settled in one of the pockets. She deflated her frame with a disappointed sigh, “I’m just surprised you made such a quick recovery. Not worried at all, almost as if you had a doctor’s guarantee that all you needed was time.”

“Look, what can I say?” she gave a half shrug. “I just know my body that well.”

A button on the jukebox snapped into place, popping out another. The chatter of the crowd upstairs as well as subtle hints of their music leaked through the ceiling. Slowly the gears inside the jukebox started turning, popping and shifting. A few seconds later and the analog mechanics presented a Tom Jones song that Lucy couldn’t quite place. Her teeth nibbled on her lower lip, weighing one conversation option against another before she said, “Yeah, I guess you do. Want to shoot some pool?”

“It’s why you invited me out, isn’t it? A private celebration where I can be myself? You see Lucy, I have you figured out by now.”

“Just line up the balls, will you?”

They started a new game and for a while had a casual conversation, intermixed with friendly banter. On a few occasions, Karen offered to make bets if either one of them could land their respective shots, but Lucy declined. It wasn’t until they arrived at the final stages of their game that the conversation shifted towards more serious subjects. Lucy brought it up when she said, “So Gena will be leaving?”

Kara leaned over the pool table, taking a slight bite out of her lower lip, “Yeah, she'll try to patch up with her ex apparently.”

“Huh, didn't know that was her reason. Just the two of them?”

“No,” Kara took the shot and watched the balls clack into one another, “There's also Amanda, their little girl. Apparently, they split up about four years ago when Amanda was... uh, only two years old or something.”

“And you know all this because?” Lucy gestured with her hand, an open invitation for Kara to answer. 

She shrugged and stepped back from the pool table, into the shadows, “Look, I like to know the people I'm working with.”

Lucy nodded slowly to herself, still not entirely sold on Kara's reason yet she chose not to pursue the subject further. Instead, she shifted the subject, “Did you hear about the crimson mastermind, Ryan Adam Duffy?”

“Not much, just a few bits from the news. Mind filling me in? Plus, five bucks that you can't land the blue ball.”

Lucy scoffed and shook her head, “Listen, I'm not going to take bets. At any rate, our pal Ryan  came to San Andreas to study chemistry, but soon spiraled into a life of parties and drugs. ”

“Let me see… s omewhere along the long line of parties and ever-changing cocktails of drugs, he got HIV, or am I way off? ”

Lucy took her shot, the white ball slipped by without hitting anything, “Doctors say that it's probably from heroin. Apparently, that death sentence was what pulled him over the edge, applying his knowledge to cook up crimson. And the rest is history.”

Kara stepped out from the shadows, surveying the pool table, “Resourceful kid with a lot of drive. makes you wonder what he'd become had he not taken that shot.”

“Listen, I had a meeting with the brass and the governor earlier today.”

Karen was good at keeping up her façade, though there were subtle little hints that Lucy spotted nonetheless. Even in a dank and dark nightclub basement, Lucy could tell that Karen was all ears. She cleared her throat, “Yeah? Good news I hope.”

“You could say that,” Lucy bobbed her head. “Your status has been elevated to the state level, using state troopers as a blueprint.”

“Okay… so- like, I can bust criminals all over the state?”

“Basically, Power Girl now has statewide authority to conduct law enforcement activities and criminal investigations. She can perform functions outside the jurisdiction of the county sheriff, such as enforcing traffic laws on state highways and interstate expressways, overseeing the security of the state capitol complex, protecting the governor, supporting local police and helping to coordinate multi-jurisdictional task force activity in serious or complicated cases in those states that grant full police powers statewide.”

Karen darted around the pool table faster than a speeding bullet and gave Lucy a big bear hug. Even going so far as to lift her off the ground and spinning her around while laughing with delight.


End file.
